


Back For the First Time, Harry?

by TaraRhyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, But also, Death, Developing Friendships, Drama, Dramaaaa, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Gen, Heartbreak, Hogwarts Inter-House Relationships, Horcruxes, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Power Imbalance, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travelling Harry Potter, Unintentional Redemption, War, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), but fast as shit updates, horcruxes doing wack shit!, inappropriate relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28999656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraRhyme/pseuds/TaraRhyme
Summary: It's summer, just weeks after Voldemort's demise- or downfall or whatever pleases you to call it. Sure Hermione and Ron are alive, and yet so many more have died. The Weasley family? Just Ron, George, and Molly now...Maybe it's selfish to focus on the small picture at a time like this, but Harry can't help but feel it was all a bit anti-climactic.What's really changed? What did those students die for? What did Remus and Sirius die for? What did he die and come back for? Their Wizarding population is reeling from having been cut into less than half; meanwhile another fanatic madman recruits muggleborn survivors to kill the rest. What have they really achieved?After a night of typical teen revelry, Harry wakes up with a hangover and a choice. Maybe he would've protested if his head wasn't killing him but it's too late now- it's 1974 and he's a pipsqueak again. The Knights of Walpurgis are making waves in the political arena... while in the shadows, a mysterious character that goes by the name Lord Voldemort is seeding revolution.16/02: Rating has officially changed to Explicit, for the author to depict certain plot points starting in Chapter Fifteen. These scenes will be indicated in notes.
Relationships: Harry Potter & James Potter, Harry Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Marauders & Harry Potter, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 79
Kudos: 333





	1. Petunias and Lilies

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing for a Marauder's Era fic, but I missed Harry so much and I can't bear how I know the story typically ends for the 70s gang. 
> 
> So instead, I did this :))

Seventeen was never easy... but fourteen was so much worse the second time around.

Now the question would typically be 'how can one be fourteen, if you've already been seventeen?' Because as most people would agree, time was linear and it ran forwards. Never looking back.

Not true! Time doesn't even necessarily exist. Everything ever, anything anywhere, is happening simultaneously... and also completely irrelevant. 

But- for the sake of this tale in particular- it must be noted that there are wizards and witches. Magic is something tangibly real, quite unlike time. It can make things happen by bending the human perception of possibility.

Magic can also make time. One could even say that if there was such a thing as time at all (which there isn't), it would be magic. And it _was_ , or _is_ , or _will_ be brought about in the completely non-tangible year of 1998, in the last vestiges of the month of May. 

Time is breathed into existence by magic, just for a little, and Harry James Potter was both a catalyst and recipient of time. He was seventeen, really nearly eighteen years old, and then he was fourteen _all over again_. But the thing is with time is that- just like magic- it's imprecise. There's more to this tale than just a bout of odd de-aging magic, because this is _time_. 

And so very suddenly... it's nineteen seventy-four, and Harry James Potter is fourteen years old.

~^~

**ONE DAY EARLIER, OR RATHER, 24 YEARS IN FUTURE.**

To say he was overwhelmed was fair. The pounding headache was like that of a thousand drums, and did not seem at all in fair proportion with the lenient drinking spree of last night.

Like every time come before, Harry groaned face first into his pillow and muttered through his drool, 

"I'm _never_ drinking again."

It should be Tuesday, he would soon recall, because it was Tuesday at around four thirty that morning when he had crawled home. The birds were still chirping good morning so unless it'd been a full day, he'd only managed a couple hours of rest. Not surprising, that. Always was hard to sleep proper after getting smashed down on the pubs.

Last night had seen George to the brink of tears (yet again) as he took tipsy comfort in the arms of his dead brother's ex-girlfriend. By that point Harry had foregone any type of pacing or self-control, he let the strawberry-vodka shots wave it down. And no, despite what Ron's personal opinion was, drinking flavoured liquors and cocktails doesn't make you a pansy bitch. Besides, the little specialty shots glowed with ambient magic- a nice shade of red, an ode to their House. As long as they came in strawberry, that is.

So despite any hankerings for lime or apple, Harry steered clear on bitter principle. More of a petty 'fuck you' to a dead man, but these were internal musings that no one could chide him for. What did it matter then? Though considering the drunk, miserable company that his friends were made up of, they would likely thump him on the back appreciably. The lot of them probably shot a thoughtful 'fuck you' to the dead Dark Lord on a daily basis. He just was no exception.

Anyways it was really George's fault then, that he was wiping drool from his mouth and pillow. The pillow was stained though, so,

"Scourgify," he croaked hoarsely, with just the faintest bit of his focus singing out of his fingertip. Yes, he groaned again with the effort of sitting up, definitely George's fault he pounded them back. As any proper seventeen year old Harry was loathe to take responsibility for his decision making, never mind that George only had a couple years on him.

Oh, it was Tuesday! Harry was reminded suddenly why they had been drinking in the first place. Not that it needed much of an occasion, but in this case it was downright stupid. Today, the 25th of May, was their first trial run. He and Ron were joining the Hit Wizards.

Hermione was still mad about that. They'd been smart enough not to invite her out last night, or tell her they were planning on getting shitfaced. Overall she disapproved of them opting for Hit Wizards instead of dedicating themselves to their studies again, or even just entering Auror Corps training. She considered it lazy and 'frankly a terrible way of coping'. 

But Hit Wizards didn't need formalised training, even if they primarily were recruited from Auror Corps. All the same, he and Ron signed up and were naturally accepted. See? Survive a Dark Lord and you're bound to be able to hold your own. Or at least people give you credibility!

Hermione was not only upset with Harry and her errant boyfriend, she was likely worried too. They were overly ready to thrust themselves back out there. _To be fair_ , Harry thought wryly, _we never did have your great sensibilities 'Mione_. 

His mirror was displeased to see him.

"Look at the state of you! I won't even mention the hair this time- Morgana knows that's a lost cause- boy you look run ragged!"

Harry yawned, "Thanks. Morning to you, too." 

"Hmph." The mirror was his own addition to the gloomy Grimmauld Place.

After pulling on a pair of grey woolen trousers and mismatching socks, he was just about ready to get some tea and go. A quick _Tempus_ had told him it was just shy of eleven. They were meant to be there soon. He was sure if he was late it wouldn't be the end of the world, but you know what they say about first impressions.

 _Ugh_ , he pulled a face after a draining sip. _Too much honey this time. I can never get it right_ , Harry laments. _Always too sweet or too bitter_. He never used magic to make tea. It was another one of his principles, as nonsensical as the rest.

Pinching glittery Floo between his thumb and forefinger he sprinkled it over the dead hearth. Stepping into the green flames he said as clearly as he could (with too-sweet tea still sticking in his mouth),

"Access three-nine-zero-two, Hit Division!"

~^~

Ron Weasley was never drinking again. Merlin was he glad he crashed on Diagon with George and Angelina, mum'd have had his head for this.

He lifted his head again for some fresh air, something less putrid than the wafting smell from the toilet bowl. But as soon as he turned his nose up, the urge returned, and he thrust his head back into the toilet to spew chunks of schnitzel from the evening before. 

A knock at the door. "Ronnie I'll leave a Remedy at the door, yeah? You've got to head off soon." Ron swallowed another wave of vomit and a fresh wave of gratitude to say,

"Thanks George." His brother was right, he had a mission today- Hit Wizards. He hoped Harry was on time too, as he crawled across the tiled floor to push the door open just enough... to grab the Hangover Remedy sitting there for him.

Since Fred died, George hadn't pulled a single prank besides just running the store. Guiltily, this made Ron feel safe in drinking something his older brother gave to him.

The relief was palpable, but still need time to set in. He hobbled to his feet and decided to freshen up just a bit before heading off.

~^~

They were the youngest people in the room by far. God, Harry's head was still killing him. He should've known water and tea wasn't going to be enough. He needed some Remedy, like Ron gleefully announced he had drunk just a few minutes before coming.

One more witch came through the floogate, and the man at the front of the room with a ramrod-straight back began to speak.

"I am Commander Wilkins, to my left is Commander Therkell and Commander Levski, in that order. We'll be handling the same case today, separate locations and missions. I'll head the debrief today. Clear?" No one moved to speak, which seemed good enough for Commander Wilkins.

"We'll be following standard Auror procedure- ice and clip, lads." Ron met Harry's eyes and mouthed, _what?_ "And for those not traditionally prepped for this division, ice refers to E-I-S, not particularly in that order mind you, _Expelliarmus, Incarcerous,_ and _Stupefy_. The 'clip' is a standard Auror kit must have. A hair clip like this-" He held up a small, metallic pin hair clip that snapped loudly shut and open, "-will be used as Portkeys to send apprehended criminals straight to the holding cells, where we have Aurors on standby. They used to use bobby pins," the Commander mused aloud. "but that was before you were even walking!" He cracked a grin at that, but both Harry and Ron flushed.

Most everyone else here was around twice their age, so it was blatantly clear all the information was just for them. Maybe going straight to the Hit Wizards wasn't a good idea, if only because it's _potentially humiliating_. It seemed clearer and clearer that everyone else kind of knew what to do even with arrests being case-by-case.

"Anyways, we had a lot of department upheaval after Voldemort's disappearance. And instead of corruption, they focused on changing the damn bobby pins." A round of laughs.

Commander Wilkins put his hands up and the room went silent.

"Back to the real matter at hand... We've just had the end of one rebellion for another to crop up! What's new, right? These fellas are the antithesis to the dead Dark Lord and crew but only in philosophy. In execution, well, they're doing a _lot_ of it. And we've finally got some leads on conspirators, so that's what brings us all together today. The message of these people is they're gunning for the end of the wizarding world, which I personally find ironic because they're using magic to get their point across. I digress." The Commander rubbed his chin. "They want complete dissolution of magical communities, and they claim they've had this in the works for a while. Thanked Voldemort for his efforts in offing the population, they did. This is frankly the first time I've heard of them, and they're calling themselves M-S. Try recruiting muggleborns or angry halfbloods for the most part."

"This hasn't been in the news," the witch who came in last said. "Why not?"

"The Death Eaters are still being trialled, while a group of extremists bent on ending the wizarding world are emerging. Why you think we're keeping it under wraps? We'd basically be making Voldemort's people look justified. Which we know they aren't, but they _could_ try and use it as something against muggleborns. Can't have that, especially not so soon."

"People could be in danger though," Harry said. "I see what you're saying, but it could be put in a less threatening or specific light or and still notify people to keep their guard up. We don't need to throw blame."

" _We_ aren't the press. And this is _why we exist_." Wilkins said sharply. "To stop these sorts before anyone gets hurt."

"Clearly people are being hurt otherwise we wouldn't be here."

"Potter," he warned. Harry bit his tongue and tried to keep the displeasure off his face. He'd never liked the Ministry's secrecy. "So this is our enemy. We will converge on the three points on interest, all warded properties."

Commander Therkell, a short woman with tightly wound hair and skin darker than Hermione's, stepped forward.

"Today it's Westenberg, Macboon, and Hitchin with me." Three separated from their small crowd and followed the Commander.

Next Commander Levski stepped forward, he was very lean. Almost unhealthily so.

"Priority group as follows: Stretton, Podmore, Denbright, Orpington, Montgomery, Bells, and Cliverton." All but one man and Ron and Harry made after Commander Levski.

"Okay so, Jorgensen, Weasley, Potter, with me. We'll be heading overseas, so have a translating spell in mind."

"Where to?" Ron asked.

"France, unfortunately."

"You don't like France?" Harry asked as they went down another winding corridor.

"Disorganised country. France always has some sort of revolution underway," their commander said while keeping a brisk pace. "But since the '74 riots, they've kept it small-scale. Compatriots from a faction formed in name of ritual restrictions being lifted turned on each other that summer. It was a particularly brutal escalation, and the French Ministry of Magic called upon both Britain and Germany for aid. This did little more than flame the fires, of course. Some of you even know that, having been there yourselves," he added wryly. 

This got a few chuckles from Jorgensen. 

The tone sobered quickly as their footsteps were. "The casualties were enormous. Mostly French nationals, both muggle and magical. But the Germans and we ourselves took hits. It was around this time of May in '74, when we lost sixteen Aurors and three Hit Wizards in a single day. The lack of an organised enemy only made fighting all that much harder."

"Was it You-Know-Who, d'ya reckon?" A gravelly voice snickered behind Harry's right ear. Jorgensen was over twice Harry's age and size, and seemed thrumming with anticipation for the arrest.

"No," Commander Wilkins said sharply. "And yes, I heard that. But it was not Lord Voldemort. He was not one for organising levels of... chaos like this. Certainly not in '74. Historically speaking, the only example of direct might exercised by the man himself was the Battle of Hogwarts." His eyes flitted, naturally, to Ron and Harry.

Harry didn't begrudge him that.

They came to a stop at a frail looking wooden door.

"It's for quick in and out apparations, different rooms like this around the Ministry for certain authorised folk," Jorgensen explained.

"Figures," Ron said, although neither of them had ever heard of such a thing.

"Team's ready?" he asked while slipping a photograph into their hands. It depicting an old village lane, and it would be charming if not for the grisly look of the people on the street and the state of the buildings. The only nice thing really, was the flowers hanging out of baskets from windows as far as could be seen.

If Harry had known anything about flowers (naturally he didn't), he'd have known those were lilies and petunias.

"Yessir," Jorgensen bit out.

"Uh yeah," Ron tacked on. "Definitely." He nodded convincingly. _Were they supposed to say honourifics?_ Harry had no idea how these sorts of things went. They used to just wing it! Once again their inexperience tasted bad and he felt like, for the millionth time in his life, _they should've listened to Hermione._

Yes sir," Harry said deliberately. Wilkins just continued to give the trio a long once over. Harry realised what the photographs were for- obviously!- and studied it a little closer. They needed to have a clear picture in mind to apparate there when repellent wards were active. He hoped Ron had realised too, because he wasn't going to embarrass him by telling him in front of their team.

"Okay," Wilkins said finally. "See you lads there." And he popped out. The ex-Auror immediately went and that left Ron and Harry.

"M'head's still killing me," Harry griped. Ron grinned.

"Should've pilfered Hermione's potions stock." And he popped out, too. Harry snorted, focused, and popped himself out of the cramped office: destination France.

Something went terribly wrong, as he saw a burst of flowers and then nothing at all.

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if this is something people'd want to read! Also if you feel like reviewing, I set aside an hour of writing for each review I get :) And any feedback is appreciated, because I feel like I'm flying blind sometimes


	2. Toms and Alastors

~^~

_Oh, am I really dead this time?_ Harry couldn't help but wonder. _Or is this another weird dream in my head?_ He blinked uselessly against the light.

But even with his eyes screwed shut, it was like they were wide open. There was nothing but brightness. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt. When he died in the Forest, with Voldemort looking on, it hurt.

Dead or alive... wherever he was, it was not France. He lets out a heavy sigh. _So much for that occupation._ He could read the headlines now: Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived is Lost via Apparation!

The light subsides, out of nowhere, just enough for outlines to appear. It looked like... people? They didn't come any closer, and Harry couldn't really move, so he just watched them and waited.

A cry pierced the stillness.

Mangled and nothing at all like a crying child should sound, it was so much deeper than that, but all the same Harry knew it was a child. 

In front of him the outline of chair came into view. It was one of those low, metal ones with the weird holes all over it, like some sort of cage wiring. Very muggle.

Underneath it was a familiar sight from mere weeks ago. A deformed, bloody, whiter-than-white _baby_ swaddled in a rough cloth.

It let out another shrill cry, so very piercing in the utter nothingness, and it shook Harry down to his core. The baby, well 'Horcrux' if we're to be technical, was the only solid thing here. This time there was no Dumbledore, no train station, just that damned chair and the baby. Harry'd forgotten all about the vague outlines in the distance.

Suddenly he could move, and he jolted forward with shaking legs to kneel in front of the chair. The Horcrux, the baby, the _whatever_ , seems to sense him. Its eyes were screwed shut but it reached out tiny arms and fingers for Harry. It cried out again, but it was not the piercing, haunting call it made earlier. This one was curious.

Harry had forgotten all about Hit Wizards and headlines now.

"Hey there," he said cautiously. Not reaching out, even as its little arms seemed to strain harder. When Harry still didn't touch it, it opened its mouth for that horrible, initial scream, and Harry hastily went to grab the swath. It hissed.

Hissed at him.

He pulled it out from under the chair and onto his folded legs. It was still now, and silent. It's lipless mouth (was that a mouth?) seemed to curl into a smile.

"Talk about codependent," Harry muttered.

"Back again?" Harry jolted, his neck snapping up. But it wasn't Dumbledore. He didn't recognise this man at all. He was old but without a beard. He had only a shock of thick, white hair on his head instead. That too, was a perfectly normal length.

"I suppose so," Harry said with all the calmness he didn't feel. The headache was making itself known again. He'd never had a hangover this bad before. He was only seventeen after all. "By any chance, do you know why?"

"No," the old man said pleasantly.

"Ah." Harry looked between him and the Horcrux-baby-whatever. "Sorry, but do I know you?"

"Well," he looked most surprised. "That's a good question, isn't it! Always the hard ones. That's very in-script." Harry blinked and squinted but for all the ambiguity and riddles the guy still looked and sounded nothing like Dumbledore. "I suppose you would say yes, but could just as easily say no. Or maybe most hopeful of all, not yet. Yes I like that one best."

"Right." Harry said shortly. "So you don't know me?" The man crinkled his eyes.

"Oh, that's another question entirely." Harry raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I would like to say... not yet. And yet more earnestly: yes, Harry. Or perhaps most importantly, it was some time ago."

Harry tried to follow along, this stranger was as mysterious as his old Headmaster. "Some time ago?"

"Perhaps a long while ago on your standards," he mused. "But no matter. That's a good thing, and I have a very concise list of good things, so in this matter I am certain. What ever are you holding, Harry?" He tacked on curiously.

"Oh," Harry had never stopped feeling the faint weight of it in his arms. "It's a Horcrux." 

"Is it now?" The man's lip twisted with clear distaste. "Friendly for a dark bit of magic."

"We've... spent some time together," Harry hedged. "Though I really don't know what I'm doing back here again."

"You've been here before?" 

"Shouldn't you know," Harry asked, "considering you said yourself 'back again'? Or does that mean something else?"

"No idea," the man said pleasantly. "I felt it must be said... Curious, that. Also, you did it wrong."

"What?" Harry eyed him.

"No idea!" He said again. "But you've done it wrong, and so you need to try again."

"Try what again?" The beginnings of dread were tickling up his spine, into his throbbing head.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I really don't know." They fell into a pensive silence.

"You know my name." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, it seems to be one of the few things about this part that I really know. And don't ask about the other parts- I simply can't move my mouth to tell you. I've been trying, and I would wager you can't even tell."

"No," Harry was very intrigued now. "I can't tell at all. But could you, er, tell me your name, maybe? I keep calling you 'the stranger'." The strange man looked very old indeed at that moment, but smiled for the first time.

"Terribly common name, I'm afraid. A real nobody."

"My name's Harry, I can't say much." The old man pressed his thin lips together in a smile and dipped his head.

"And I'm Tom. Just Tom. Or was, I suppose."

"Now that's a funny thing," Harry snorted.

"My name? Do you think so?"

But before Harry could explain the Horcrux, or _Tom_ , or he could even let out another syllable-- there was a loud, impatient hoot and his vision went white once more. Nothing but the baby-whatever on his lap and whiteness... and that long, drawn-out whistle.

It sounded just like the Hogwarts Express.

"If you could help, would you save those who died?" It sounded his own voice, echoing in his head.

God that did NOT help the headache. _Yes of course,_ he thought. _Not a question. And please don't yell, my head's killing me._

"You will go back further than ever before. Understand, it will be long before you can rest? The wizarding world lies in your hands." _What's new_ , Harry thought.

And a swirling sensation not unlike floo travel (but so much worse) took his senses over.

~^~

**THE NEXT DAY, OR RATHER, NINETEEN SEVENTY FOUR.**

Harry Potter momentarily forgot this entire encounter and woke up most confused, mere seconds later.

Breathing was kind of difficult, he realised first. 

His nose... itched? Opening his eyes made the world no less dark, but his fingers found purchase in some sort of ground and he pushed himself up to his hands and knees.

He had been face down, in the dirt. He snorted out the earthy bits as best he could, but reached for his wand to clean himself fully off... only not to find it. The dirt was not the biggest problem he quickly realised. 

The air was hazy like a bad, old picture film. A fine sort of grey dust filtered through his lungs as he breathed in, and it tasted burnt. The sky above was grey as well, smoky.

Harry Potter did NOT know where he was. But what he did know was that wherever he was, something was not right. The ground seemed to shake under his feet, making him stumble and he fought valiantly to stay standing.

His ringing ears suddenly let in **sound**. 

Screams rang, sirens- magical or maybe not- blared, spells zipped through the smog and he could hear when they hit their mark: chaos was everywhere.

 _The dust is really making it hard to breath properly_ , Harry thought, wheezing and struggling for enough breath. He pulled the collar of his jumper to cover his face, blinking furiously. 

His jumper? Harry hadn't been wearing a jumper. It's nearly June, isn't it? Harry looked over himself. He had on a thin vested kind of jumper over a collared shirt that wasn't so white anymore. His trousers were just as dull, grey, and woollen as his jumper, not unlike the ones Harry had _actually_ put on this morning.

Where the hell was he?

What was going on? 

Were they still in France- was Ron somewhere nearby? 

Unbidden, a worse thought arose. Was Ron hurt by those- ugh, what did they call themselves? He let the jumper drop from his hand. It wasn't like it was doing much to filter out the chalky air anyway.

Harry felt sure that the enemy was still out there, as he saw shadows moving back and forth in the dust. A red light streaked past him, nearly hitting him as it went by and he heard someone behind him scream in pain. The ground shook again with the force of... something.

 _If only he could see better_ , he thought, and continued unsuccessfully looking around on the ground for his wand in case he had dropped it.

There was another loud bang and Harry felt the ground move from under his feet and bits of what felt like the dirt he'd just breathed in rained down from above.

There was a sudden, unnatural gust of wind and Harry saw a corridor of light open up in front of him, a clear path with walls of swirling dust leading out of the darkness. He moved forwards, hurrying to get _there_ so he could see what was happening around him. Get an idea of what to do next. 

But he didn't take more than a step.

A tall man stepped into his line of vision, the smoke dancing around his blue cloak.

"Filthy French ruckus," the man said disdainfully, brushing off his shoulder.

Impossible.

No.

It couldn't be.

This couldn't... This couldn't be...

He was hallucinating. He had to be.

Laughter most unsuited for this sort of scene could be heard nearby. A man, in blue robes indicating Auror Corps, apparated with a small pop next to the fellow Harry was gaping at.

"They are not so easy to subdue." The apparition of Alastor Moody grunted at the man's words and he apparated away once more. The next crack of apparition was not friendly but rather a shadowy figure in a deeply drawn hood that wasting no time in casting,

" _Sa Digitos!_ " from over Harry's head. Everyone seemed extraordinarily tall to Harry at the moment.

Moody was forced to conjure up a shining silver shield out of thin air but growled out a low, " _Juniopracider regulus_!"

The shadowy figure hissed out in pain, and collapsed to the ground. 

" _Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Incarcerous_ ," the somehow-alive Auror shot out in quick succession. And like an afterthought, he glumly cast, "Oh, well, _m_ _undo regulum_."

Harry could only stand there in shock as the bulky figure of a Moody with two legs strode past him, the smoky air parting around him. He likely had cast some visibility charms, but they didn't extend far. This dusty air was magical- repellent to seeing well. Like a watered down version of that nifty Peruvian Powder.

What happened to Moody? He looked so different and seemed to have become _younger_. Not to mention... alive.

The man in question seemed to realise that he wasn't alone. He had a spectator eyeing him, and finally the matter of Harry was addressed.

He turned, and their eyes met.

Bright green met _two functioning eyes_.

Something was different, something was wrong, _that,_ Harry could tell straight away.

Because the dose of suspicion mixed with disinterest, that was new.

Moody didn't recognise him.

"Hello laddie," he said gruffly, but he was not entirely aggressive. "You speak English?"

"Y-yes," Harry coughed out. He didn't even know until then how much the dust was clogging up his throat.

"No place for a youngun," he said almost to himself.

"I'm not that young!" Harry protested with a scratchy voice. _Frankly you're the abnormally young one_ , he thought privately. And then more indignantly, _I'm nearly eighteen years old, wanker!_

The Auror sighed and took out a bobby pin, threading it in the incapacitated wizard's hair. The man vanished, so Harry assumed he was using bobby pins instead of hair clips as an Auror Portkey for arrest.

But that made no sense! That was overridden years ago. They haven't used bobby pins since...

Since Harry was a baby. They changed it after Voldemort's first downfall, because in the lull of peace lots of things were changed.

He knew this... remembered it from the impromptu Hit Wizards lecture...

Harry was looking at a whole Alastor Moody, breathing and blinking both eyes, pinning bobby pins to dark men while in an Auror Corps uniform. 

"Alright laddie, you injured? Where the folks of yours at? Were they here when it got all smoky? Focus, boy-o!"

What the hell was going on?

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A review is an hour of writing, and at least twice that spent smiling like an idiot- I need feedback as much as I appreciate it- because I need to know if I'm fucking up or flying somewhat smooth


	3. France and Britain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it continues, Harry's done 'it' wrong and has been given more time.

~^~

"I... I don't..." Harry felt that fucking headache come back with a vengeance.

Moody strode forward with such purpose that Harry nearly stumbled trying to back up, and he grabbed Harry's shoulder firmly. Harry had to tilt his head up to meet the man's eyes, which was beyond disturbing. Had he shrunk?

"Laddie, I'm taking you somewhere they'll fix you up, alright?" And the smoky, grey dust parted around them as Harry felt a familiar jerk in his navel: side apparation.

They appeared in a busy ward. The Healers nearby jolted slightly at the sight of them, but seemed fairly preoccupied overall. Harry heard moans and groans, and crying too.

"There was another wave attack in Rouen. More patients will be arriving shortly. The boy needs a once over, can't speak. Don't know if he's muggle or one of ours, either way I don't know if they'll be much of a home for him and his folks to get back to. Whole damn place is in flames!" Auror Moody growled this all very quickly to the nearest Healer.

"I think I'll be the judge of a patient's health, thank you." The healer snapped, coming closer and making the Auror straighten imperceptibly at his tone. Harry was dragged over to a bed and, after having the Healer clean the soot away, the man began muttering charms over him, with Moody standing stiffly nearby. "Haven't you got to head back out?" The Healer asked him snidely.

"We've called retreat," Moody said. "We lost... quite a number today. Jorgensen and I were last out- speaking of, have you seen the lad?"

"The blond kid with the acne? Over by the crying woman, in the back." Moody grunted and gave Harry a nod, who was still glowing from diagnostic charms, before ambling off in the direction the Healer had pointed out.

"You are not fine, young man. You're in shock and you've got extreme muscle tenderness. A muscle relaxant and a calming potion should sort you out." Harry just blinked. There was too much to process. The Healer summoned two vials and thrust them at Harry. Looking at the fidgety, unfriendly man, he gulped them down quickly. His trembling legs settled after the first potion and he felt somewhat more at ease after draining the second.

"Well, we'll be needing the bed for _actually injured_ people, so you've got to get a move on. Moody!" He called over his shoulder. "He's good enough to speak." The Auror came over with a derisive eye for the Healer. But it hardly mattered, as a round-faced man apparated in and the Healer abandoned Harry to attend to his bloody torso.

"Come on, let's talk." The Auror said gruffly if kindly, sending the rather brisk Healer a glare.

He then grabbed Harry's shoulder gently, distracting him from the bustling ward, which was rapidly filling up.

"I'm Alastor Moody, lad. I work as an Auror, so I'm here to help." The man said, looking down at Harry with piercing blue eyes. "What's your name?"

"...Harry." Harry answered quietly, thinking it strange that nobody seemed to have recognised him yet. 

"Alright Harry, where are your parents? Are they back in Rouen?"

Harry mouthed _Rouen_ , like the foreign word it was. "Er, sir, my parents are... they passed away when I was a baby."

"One of the orphans," the Healer sighed, having reappeared. The man he was helping now was laying down in a cot opposite Harry and whimpering faintly. "We've got quite a few of those today. There was an orphanage in the blast radius in Rouen, it seems. We can have him relocated to a British orphanage, like the rest are. We'll separate them to ensure that memories aren't jogged."

"Ah, muggle orphanage?" Moody repeated. "What an odd concept. Just wouldn't stand among us wizards to throw children out."

"It's not always abandonment," the Healer said chidingly. "Sometimes they are very sick or can't afford the child. Muggle issues."

"Right then, so this is in your lot's hands?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Goodbye, Harry," Moody said with a crinkly smile. "Better luck from now on, eh?"

"Wait!" Harry said with a growing sense of foreboding. "Where are you going? I don't want to go to an orphanage, I'm not a little kid!" The Healer made a sound of derision to that. Harry ignored it. "Auror Moody, please!"

The man turned to say, "Sorry lad, this is no place for muggles."

Before Harry could shout 'I'M NOT A MUGGLE!' a jolt of white light hit him straight on and he knew no more.

~^~

The sun was elusive and the wind frigid for a mid-June summer day. Then again, it was barely five thirty in the morning.

Harry awoke with a start. He was lying on a small bed, covered by a poor excuse for a blanket trying to put the pieces of his mind together. There was a single moment of blissful ignorance in which he knew nothing. And then he remembered where he was.

He was nearly fourteen now, not eighteen, and it's been two weeks he's been living in nineteen seventy-four. As he was, he had indeed made it to France in the end. Only it was France of 24 years earlier, while riots were taking place. 

He had _time travelled._ And it was nothing like with a Time-Turner.

Harry also remembered why he was very cross with the Auror Corps, while at the same time, it worked things out rather nicely for him.

Although technically Harry never went to Beauxbatons, Harry Martin apparently did. He had not even managed to finish his third year after the riots struck too close to the castle, and the students were sent home. Unfortunately for Harry Martin, his home was barely a town away, in the heart of the attacks.

He did know French as it turned out, which lent his background some credibility. But Harry still spoke English with the same voice and accent he'd always had. The caretakers at his new London care home simply thought that the French schools taught British English very well indeed.

His home before had been just another dingy French orphanage that didn't last more than a day in the riots, after he'd left school. He was a complete nobody, with nothing to his name, a name that wasn't even his. They just slapped a random last name to him after receiving a baby in a bundle named Harry, he would later learn. Then Auror Moody found him, whisked him away, and assumed he was a muggle orphan. They proceeded to wipe his memory clean of the whole apparation-wands-spells bit and meant to send him on his merry way. But when Harry immediately asked the man that was ushering him up a random street 'where's my wand? you're a Auror aren't you- you've got the robes- why don't I know where I am? why don't I know what I'm doing here?', they realised he knew what magic was.

They, after all, hadn't wiped his whole memory, just the encounter with Moody and his time in the Healing ward.

The Ministry, like usual, made a mistake.

When he was brought back to the Ministry of Magic, he answered honestly that he didn't know where his wand was (let alone any of his possessions) and didn't remember ever going to Beauxbatons, the French school of magic.

With a heavy sigh, the Auror Laurence declared him to the Misuse Office as an unfortunate victim of mistake. They assumed he didn't remember going to Beauxbatons and meeting magical people because taking memories based on _that_ was what the Obliviate was for. The Healer must've been too imprecise when casting mind magic.

 _Luckily_ , they said, he retained all general knowledge pertaining to the wizarding world, so he wasn't terrible damaged. They gave him a pat on the head and a promise to invite him to study at Hogwarts (oh it's the least they could do), and shipped him off to the nearest care home in London- Skyreach Orphanage.

So Harry acclimatised in a four story tall, drab orphanage to the reality that every newspaper showed him in fine print.

It was 1974.

Also, according to his apparently existent Beauxbatons school records, he had just left from third year. That meant, if his birthday hadn't moved around too, that he was turning only _fourteen_ this year. Fourteen years old. No wonder everyone seemed so much larger. Harry'd never been tall, but before the end of sixth year he was considerably _short_. 

He still remembered his life- and slowly that weird dream with that old man and the Horcrux that screamed unless he held it came back too, by bits and pieces. It seemed very significant, he was certain it was why he was here. The man had mentioned having done something wrong, and fixing it. The only thing Harry could think of to regret was not saving everyone. Too many died. Far too many. And then as soon as peace broke, another splinter group with death on the mind rises up!

Was this a chance to change that? Can the wizarding world be changed?

These thoughts plagued him day and night, and he thought worryingly about school as well. What if they didn't have him join Hogwarts? 

Harry didn't even have _a wand_... he didn't have money either... the Ministry had been quick to wash their hands of him...

All these concerns were mitigated later that day, after Harry woke very early from a strange nightmare he could no longer remember. There'd been a fire, he thought.

But before his day got better, it got worse. See, the orphanage had a pecking order. And Harry, being new, was quite low on the totem pole.

"Ugh, freak!" one of the older boys spat, kicking him hard in the ribs just one more time... before leaving with the other little terrorists that made up his gang, apparently getting bored of the impassive reactions that Harry gave. He didn't cry, he never did, it wasn't as if his life here was much worse than what he experienced at the Dursleys.

It was just like if "Harry Hunting" happened more often. As in, several times a day.

Well at least he got food consistently, no matter how much it tended to resemble grey sludge more than meatloaf.

He winced, struggling to sit up. He felt dizzy and was painfully aware of all the other children in the dirt yard watching him from afar. Not even one of them bothers to offer a word of compassion, let alone help. _Cowards,_ he thought hatefully, an old hurt burning in his chest. He sometimes wondered if he should use magic to teach those bullies how it felt to feel helpless. _No, those are bad thoughts, Harry, bad thoughts..._

Still, no matter how much he refused to acknowledge those thoughts, he had to admit that the temptation grew stronger with each passing minute. He absolutely despised bullies and he loathed those who turned a blind eyes to their actions even more.

He stalked through the orphanage, wanting to reach his room as fast as he could, to reach his little sanctuary in this place. It was the only benefit he got for being so off-putting.

Magic really was a natural repellent to muggles. Nobody wanted to room with him, so he was the only one in the whole orphanage that got his own private room. Sure it was gloomy, and the roof gave the impression that it would come crashing down any moment, but after spending ten years in a cupboard? He couldn't complain.

"Feeling down, Harry?" asked one of the caretakers nastily as he passed through the halls. Harry didn't bother to answer as he continued on his way. He knew well enough that the question was a fake formality. No one gave a damn about his well being here.

He missed Ron and Hermione sometimes. They'd been inseparable for seven years, after all.

He also couldn't help but think that in one of his previous lives he must have done some kind of heinous crime to be punished with a loveless childhood as both Harry Potter and Harry Martin. Someone out there must be getting a real kick from watching him suffer.

Entering his room, Harry headed straight to his bed where he collapsed in relief, shrugging into his sleep bottoms. The thin mattress groaned as it collided with the rusty springs but he didn't care.

He sighed. Just how different would the magical world be from the one he remembered? Could he really change the course of time?

What had he done wrong the first time- not killed Voldemort soon enough? Too many lives were lost, he knew...

"Hadrian?"

Startled out of his thoughts, Harry sat up from the bed, his face carefully composed in a blank mask. He was met with the sight of one of the caretakers, Ms. Tolk, who stood beside an attractive young woman.

"This is Professor Kuttlege. She's come to offer you a place at a boarding school. Your family reserved a spot when you were a baby, I have been told. Apparently before they," the caretaker paused, "left you in that French orphanage, and you somehow were brought to London just recently, they lived in England. It seems you've made full circle, young man! The Professor will talk to you in private before you must make a decision, but I encourage you to understand the kind of opportunity that you are being afforded. Seize it, boy." 

With those nearly-kind parting words, Ms. Tolk left Professor Kuttlege standing in the doorway of Harry's room.

He had a soaring feeling about this 'boarding school'. The Aurors hadn't lied about the settlement of Harry into a new life.

"I have a letter for you, young man. It's addressed to a Harry Potter, so we must assume your last name here was registered as a fill in?" Harry flushed.

"It's the same fill in last name they used in France, Professor. No one knew my name, well- I guess now we do." She passed over a familiar envelope with a red wax emblem.

 _Mr. Harry Potter of  
_ _Room 37  
Fourth Floor  
Skyreach Orphanage  
London_

Harry reverently opened the seal, feeling a desperate welling of need. He wanted very much to go back to Hogwarts- he missed it. He hadn't seen it since the Battle, and then it was a shell of the home he'd once called it.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mister H. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

 _Minerva McGonagall_  
Deputy Headmistress

"I have come to understand that yours is a rather unique situation after what happened with at Saint Mungo's. And so, I am primarily here to assist you with your shopping in wizarding Britain. After you wear some day clothes, perhaps, as it is daytime." She gave Harry's raggedy pyjama bottoms a stern eye. He ignored the jibe.

"Shopping? Oh, right." Then he realised the biggest issue. "But I don't have any money ma'am," Harry said with disappointment colouring his voice.

"There is a fund Hogwarts supplies for orphaned students, Mister Potter," the professor responded to implied question. "Now, after you're ready having gotten dressed, meet me at the entrance downstairs. I'll be waiting for you there," Kuttlege continued, already heading towards the doorway.

"Understood, Professor," Harry said, watching the woman retreat.

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I made any mistakes, I'll review for them tomorrow when I post the next chapter! I'm feeling very ill today, and need to sleep.... immediately...


	4. Diagon emulates Knockturn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo I took my time sorry, I'm really under the weather- well that's an understatement. And the finale chapter for my other fic, Comics, is so ridiculously long... I've been trying to edit that but I just keep adding more scenes. Also editing Harry Potter and the Revolving Wall is posing the same problem, which I have to obvs do before I get the second story in that series up. Anyways I'll have a few more chappies up here soon!!

~^~

Harry grimaced as a much younger Madam Malkin fitted his school clothes. Thinking about it, he wasn't even sure if Malkin had survived in the future. Either way here she was, playing stick and poke with her wand and an impressive array of pins.

He cringed as yet another needle pricked his skin, shifting minutely and earning a reprimand. "Stand still for a change," the rosy cheeked woman chided.

Inwardly, he cursed the Professor who abandoned him to Miss Malkin, asking her to make him three robes that should be, _"black and fitting, but not clingy, seeing that he's small and skinny as it is. Wouldn't do to make him look like a starving little orphan. The rest I'm sure you know, standard Hogwarts wear."_ She had gone off to fetch Harry's potions wares across the street with gusto. The woman didn't seem to like Madam Malkin much, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.

He felt his legs going numb, while his mind was going overdrive from the overload of being back with _magic_... back where he belonged, sort of. As much as he could belong in a younger face and a much younger world.

Kuttlege had apparated them to the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron (Harry really wowed her by holding his stomach contents), which was just as grubby-looking as ever but with significantly more patrons milling about than Harry had ever seen. Entering Diagon Alley was not any less impressive despite the fact that he had lived it many times before, and so faking a first impression wasn't too hard.

The narrow streets were crowded, full of parents and children hurrying this way and that. Half the wizards and witches were as eccentric as ever, boasting styles of dancing stars on robe linings or stuffed bird hats. It was a bit disconcerting for Harry, even before the war he had never seen such a sheer number of magicals. When he said crowded, he meant it. Every store had customers spilling out into the streets, doors never closing. Fortescue's ice cream parlour was overrun with sticky children and the man himself looked stressed, if happy.

He took in the storefronts, trying to pinpoint the differences between what he was seeing and what he was used to. Harry recognised some, such as **Eeylops Owl Emporium** or **Cauldrons- All Sizes** _,_ but others such as **Cibil's Ends** \- one of the biggest stores he had seen so far, that was displaying sales at the window for _wampus spleen_ , _nogtail eyes_ , and other equally strange bits- were lost on him, not having existed in his time. Although there perhaps were shops in his day that sold similar items.

There really were _so many_ magicals. He'd never been surrounded by so many, not even on Lockhart's book signing in Diagon. It may just be that more people were, well, _alive._

Harry followed the Hogwarts Professor towards Gringotts Bank while asking question after question about Hogwarts and Britain, all reasonable things a foreign should wonder about.

"Where _is_ Hogwarts?"

"Scotland," came the brisk answer.

"How are I going to get there? That's all the way north!"

"Train. Now be quiet, the goblins are not the most patient folk." She didn't seem very patient either, in fact the lady seemed on edge the entire time. Harry didn't know if she just didn't like him, or didn't like children.

They reached the large, white marble building that stood proud in the centre of the alley at the divergence, where it splits off into Natura Alley. If they continued along the Diagon main alley they would eventually reach the narrow passage that lead to Knockturn's regions. If there was anything Harry learned after the end of the war, it was that the wizarding world was much larger than he'd ever realised. And that was a stark revelation when he saw just how empty it was- and how empty it _wasn't meant to be_.

They climbed the steps, which were close to one another, likely for the goblins if they ever came out of the bank itself. Coming to the bronze doors he saw that were flanked on each side, by goblins in matching dark red and bright gold uniforms. The Professor did not linger to give Harry a warning about stealing from Gringotts like Hagrid had, she merely swept inside, expecting him to trail after.

Behind each high sat desk were teller goblins that wore nasty grimaces, and Harry shivered thinking of his own past with the bank. There was no way for them to sense what he'd done, was there? It technically hadn't even happened yet.

They approached an available teller.

"Well?" The goblin said rudely.

Kuttlege gave the goblin a contemptuous eye before answering. "I am here to extract 100 galleons from the Hogwarts scholarship vault in the name of Harry Potter, by the authority given to me as a Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The goblin peered down and over at Harry, sneering extra hard. He, much like Professor Kuttlege, seemed to just not like him, right off the bat.

The goblin led them into a small office where they were told to take a seat. Harry was thinking about why they didn't get to ride down in a cart. He asked, saying he must've heard abut that back in France. Kuttlege explained that nobody could enter the Hogwarts scholarship vault, for protective reasons. The law was given several centuries ago after a case of thievery from a gambling Headmaster.

The grumpy creature returned soon enough, a fairly large bag in hand, jingling.

"Now your necessities will be covered, and you will have enough money for tuition and a few galleons pocket change. Hogwarts is a generous institution, do remember that before you thoughtlessly stuff yourself with every candy you can buy. Consider saving for more useful purchases, like extra reading materials. Or even just until you are at school, wait. As you will be starting fourth year, you will be permitted to visit Hogsmeade, a nearby village with plenty of money waste-worthy shops."

"Yes, ma'am!" Harry responded a little too cheerfully. She did not seem to think very highly of him at all. Wow. "Um, so, where are we going next?"

"Why Mister Potter, first we are to make a wizard out of you, aren't we?"

"Professor?"

"A wand, Mister Potter, obviously." The woman huffed. "You've been without yours, and I was informed by the Aurors that it was unretrievable."

"Wand, right, yes!" Harry was feeling stupid for not seeing where she was going with that.

So caught up in his thoughts Harry was, he didn't even notice when he followed through a squeaky door that had written in golden, peeling letters, **Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.**

He was startled from his building anticipation by the sound of a bell, announcing their entrance.

"Ah, Miss Cerina Kuttlege, good afternoon." greeted Ollivander, appearing from behind a very unbalanced looking pile of wand boxes. The man seemed to be eternally in his late seventies, Harry thought, even nearly thirty years earlier. That made him a little uneasy. "12 inches, unicorn hair and sycamore wood?"

"Indeed, it was," she replied politely.

"A reliable wand indeed. I should hope it continues to serve you well." Ollivander spoke with an ever-faraway look.

"It does. It's nice seeing you again, Mr. Ollivander," said Kuttlege with a dip of the head.

"Yes, most certainly. But that is not why we are here today!", the man shook his head to the side like there was water in his ear, before turning towards a nearly fourteen year old Harry.

"Ah, hello there! Familiar, familiar. Your parents... I cannot seem to recall them, however." Ollivander breathed, after staring intently at Harry- nearly right through to his soul, as usual. "And a little old for your first wand, young man."

It was still nice to see the man alive, and odd as ever.

"You couldn't, sir, I'm muggleborn. My name is Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I was also in France until recently. I don't know what happened to my first wand."

"Muggleborn? You have the bones of our people, child," the man murmured, giving Harry another once over, before humming. The boy was attention catching, with a stirring, eerie beauty carved into his very cheeks. Pale skin without a single freckle, and rosy cheeks under green-grass eyes. The hair curled at the ends, wild and gravity defiant.

"Well now, Mr. Potter." Ollivander broke off his cataloguing of the child. "I believe you came here looking for a wand. Which is your wand arm?" Ollivander asked.

"My right one, sir," Harry said. "And I do remember my old wand's core- if that helps?" Professor Kuttlege looked at him sharply before huffing again, then stepping forward to Ollivander.

"The Ministry did a memory mishap with the boy, so he's got gaps in odd places. Sometimes not."

"Oh of course they did," Ollivander spoke considerably more snappily, "What could we expect, hm?" He turned to Harry again, with those milky eyes. "What was it, then? Mind you, this sorts of things can change."

"Phoenix feather," Harry shared, eager to if it meant his search for a wand would be shorter this time. But Ollivander hummed and did not immediately retrieve phoenix feather core wands. Harry was thrust at a large variety of combinations- the worst reactions from a unicorn hair and hawthorn wand and a phoenix feather and willow. One stirred up a windy frenzy his Professor had to calm, and the other set Ollivander's head on fire. He was undeterred.

"How strange," said Ollivander snatching yet another wand from Harry's hands. "You are one of the trickiest I have ever met," he smiled.

"I wonder," Ollivander suddenly murmured, pausing on his way to the shelves in the back. "Not dragon heartstring, definitely no, no... you said phoenix feather... I have certainly, just a few maybe with... that wood..." He climbed a precariously tall ladder instead. Harry hoped beyond hope that Ollivander still had _his_ wand and was _getting it_.

He'd figured by now that it made sense he wouldn't have his wand on him in France, because it was 1974 and his wand hadn't even been sold yet.

"Give this a whirl." The wandmaker had returned. When he unboxed the wand within, Harry recognised it instantly. He couldn't help the smile that broke across his face, and he didn't care as he reached to grab it.

"Fulmina Volco!" He said clearly, swishing down. A brilliant stream of gold sparks shot out of the wand that was nearly thrumming with excitement. Or that might've been Harry. He nearly whooped as the sparks formed an array of glowing, cawing birds that swooped around the shop's rafters before spoofing out of existence.

He looked to Ollivander first, who gave him a small nod. This was his wand. The Professor was already looking at him.

"A rather advanced Transfiguration-Charm for a first year. I wasn't aware of the Beauxbatons curriculum being on such a standard." Harry was too happy at the reunion to feel nervous or dislike her tone.

"I like to learn ahead," he said simply.

After they paid the necessary galleons, Harry almost pranced out onto the street. He felt good for the first time since coming to this year and being stuck in a London orphanage. As they headed towards Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, he asked Kuttlege something else that had been nagging at him.

"How did the letter know my true birth name? And why wouldn't Beauxbatons have known, if it's a magical thing?"

"Beauxbatons is the youngest institution for magic in Europe, and second youngest in the world. A school of magic is the resulting work of accomplished mages, it cannot just be any old building with some classrooms in it. In fact the quality of work surrounding Beauxbatons was not sufficient for the level of malevolence you yourself were caught up in this summer, and they had to relinquish their students."

"But isn't that dangerous to just send the students away?" The Professor gave him a look that almost could be ascribed to pity.

"Most wizards families have homes of greater safety, comparatively. And I believe you yourself were one of the only students close enough to the school's location to be anywhere near harm. Unfortunately no one could've predicted how quickly the damage would escalate and spread. Your previous care home was simply a casualty, and you are unlucky enough not to be claimed by a wizarding family. Altogether I do not believe your previous institution meant you harm."

"Fascinating, really," Harry said with an even voice, "but I don't understand how that means they couldn't know my name at Beauxbatons?"

"Hogwarts is a very old institution," she continued. "And not only that, it has been worked upon by some of the most extraordinary wizards and witches the world over. Many of the capabilities of the castle, the sorting process, and our mail delivery system are beyond comprehension of the average wizard. It operates on magic not regulated, or even divulged in writing. How exactly the mail delivery system knows names to be true and locations to be perfectly right, that's not a question I can answer, Mister Potter. Something was done to the quill that writes those letters, sure, but I teach charms, not runes."

"Well I'm glad to know, either way." Harry said quietly. "My name." He was also wondering about the Potters in general. Was he still related to the Potters? Was... was his father alive, like Moody? Even if he was, Harry couldn't possibly be his son already!

Too many questions, not enough answers. Not yet.

The clothing shop looked like it had just opened, and didn't seemed to be even half as popular as he remembered. Miss Malkin, a young girl that appeared to be just out of the school, was overjoyed at the prospect of a client, but soured whenever she looked at Kuttlege.

Curious.

After the young Professor left, Harry become an experiment for the bubbly seam enchantress- forced to try different wizard sets that Miss Malkin thought would look good on him. It was certainly more than just the standard sort. He _tried_ to protest, as he didn't have the money to buy them... but he'd have been just as successful talking to a solid wall. Malkin waved his protesting aside, saying it was all in good fun. But Harry was not having fun.

Resigned to his fate he decided to comply with Miss Malkin's demands until the return of Professor Kuttlege, seeing that he didn't really have a choice anyway.

That was all more than twenty minutes ago. Now, Harry was feeling the need to frustratedly shout from the prodding needles in the same standing position he'd occupied for far too long-- when suddenly a different kind of shout was heard outside of the shop. It was bloodcurdling and cut short- it sent a creeping thrill down his spine.

He pushed away the dancing, enchanted tools and jumped down from the stool.

Harry cautiously approached the window, trying to better see what was happening outside. Miss Malkin, who followed him as her curiosity got the better of her, let out a fearful gasp at the sight that greeted their eyes.

More than two dozen men and women were fighting, and as Harry watched, the bustling crowds began to panic, shoving into every shop to escape the stray spells. It was obvious that they didn't have other purpose in mind, other than chaos. One woman with very long hair was lying prone and still on the cobblestone, red all around her. People stampeded around her, uncaring, and some even stepped on her outstretched arms. She did not stir. Harry tensed up, already feeling he was being tested in this new world.

As he was torn with indecision about what he should do (should he go out and help?), Harry watched as his Professor joined the fray, emerging from the potions apothecary with her wand readily drawn for intercepting charms and firing off curses.

Her duelling skills were painfully apparent as she gracefully dipped and dodged and weaved, performing a deadly dance for those opposing.

"Ripuri!" She shouted, diving out of the way of a suspiciously green spell as hers hit true. "Scutos! _Scutumos!_ " Kuttlege sprinted towards a man, who was holding a pain curse over a twitching other. A grey shield, very solid looking, appeared between the victim and him, but it wasn't enough warning for the man to know what was coming.

Futilely he twisted his neck around and the Professor's silent spell hit him dead on, he collapsed, rigid. She summoned and pocketed his wand and immobilised the man he was attacking as well, before confiscating his wand.   
  
Both she levitated over to the robes shop, as it was nearest, swerving around other duellists and panicking shoppers. Madam Malkin was watching with avid interest that she tried to school into vague attention before Professor Kuttlege brought the incapacitated fighters inside.

"The shops will hold, no intentional ward breakers," she said quickly. "Just a brawl out of hand, and these perpetuators are to be held within your wards until the authorities can collect. Understood?"

"Y-yes, of course," the clothing chanter nearly tripped over her words. Without further warning, or even a word to Harry, she pushed back out the door into the throng of curses and chaos.

"Is that-" Harry hesitated. "Is this very ordinary?"

"No, no," Malkin clucked. "not at all. At least certainly not on Diagon, we do have some rules and regulation. Perhaps off on Knockturn Alley this uncouth settlement of matters occur with more frequency."

"Really?" Harry said skeptically. He'd never seen a fight of such magnitude occur outside of deliberate battle, and from his experience Knockturn was far more regulated than Diagon.

"Oh, no need to worry, dear! Knockturn's no place a Hogwarts Professor will be taking you. Can get rather seedy, down around there."

"Mm," he hummed noncommittally, turning back to watch the duelling outside the display window. Madam Malkin joined him again, after giving the frozen-still duellers on the floor a wary look.

Harry wondered if this disruption was already the work of Voldemort. He couldn't know- he knew little to nothing of the first war, only that it took many young lives near the end.

For now, as a school-bound thirteen year old wizard, he couldn't investigate much either.

He realised, after over two weeks of moping, he needed a game plan. He needed to stop the future from happening even if that meant he couldn't go back.

But he had the feeling already that he never would return to his time.

~^~


	5. Books and Boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter today- keep that in mind if you're here, don't want anyone to miss chapter four and be confused at the skip!

~^~

"Sorry about that display, Mister Potter," said the Professor passionlessly. Harry was a little impressed by her duelling skills, so the disdain wasn't nearly as off-putting as it had been the entire trip thusfar. "The Aurors have arrived, they'll handle it now. Malkin, have you sufficiently dressed the boy?"

"I, well, yes," she babbled. "But the material will have to be a lower quality, unfortunately."

"He's an orphan," Kuttlege said with her lip curling. "What on earth did you expect? Acromantula silk? We have a _budget_ , so don't fill the boy's head with delusions of grandeur and fine things." 

Harry wasn't wrong, there definitely was some animosity between the two witches. He knew better than to ask the Charms Professor and instead asked Miss Malkin, who was puttering about packaging his new school uniform. Kuttlege had moved over to the window, watching with her hands folded behind her back as the Aurors rounded people up.

"Do you know each other?"

"Not very well," the seam enchantress said. "She was my Professor during my last year at Hogwarts, and yes, was always very snippy. I was quick to complaining though, I'll admit. We often butted heads." She glanced to the window display, where the woman showed no signs of hearing. "It was really hard to show proper respect- well it shouldn't have been but it was- because she was just a few years older than us. Brilliant witch, I'll say," she looked at Harry sternly. "So don't cross her. I was bold enough to have been a nasty flirt my final year, something about utter indifference can be very appealing..."

"Ah, okay," Harry said abruptly as Miss Malkin seemed to lose herself in thought. She shook her head and handed over magically wrapped parcels.

"That's all dearest," she said warmly. "She's already gone and paid." Harry smiled almost involuntarily at the kindness on Malkin's face, before walking over to his teacher.

"We'll be going to Flourish and Blott's. I refrained from purchasing your books as I believe that is an experience one should have first themselves. You may peruse the shelves for your interests, and also find your school list of necessary tomes." Harry was starting to think she was a Ravenclaw, with the reverent tone she spoke of the bookshop. "If you wish to spend any of the galleons from your yearly fund, I will tell you that you have twenty galleons and seven sickles to your name that is not needed for your schoolbooks- however next year you will have _considerably_ less. The one hundred galleon limit is specifically for first year students in need of items like a trunk, magically adjustable clothing, a wand, and safety precautions such as dragon hide gloves. Keep this all in mind. _Are you with me_ , Mister Potter?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm listening," he said dutifully, while still tracking the Aurors with his eyes. "The street was slowly swelling in numbers but people looked wary, fairly enough. Many wizards and witches were bound or unconscious and being Portkeyed away. Harry scanned for the somewhat familiar form of Auror Moody, but didn't find him.

~^~

Flourish and Blotts was housing an incredible amount of books _and_ wizards, some still clearly hiding out the fighting. The Professor instructed him to come and find her in the Warding section once he was complete with shopping. She handed him his book list and the money pouch that she had shrunk from the bank, warning him that if he ran out of money it was his responsibility. 

"Professor why don't the goblins shrink the bags, too? Wouldn't that make it easier for them to carry?"

"Do they look like wand wavers to you, Mr. Potter? Perhaps look into the magical species section, today, for some enlightenment." And she vanished with a dramatic twirl into the stacks.

"Helpful," he muttered.

Harry looked down at his list, wondering where to start. 

_Magical Drafts and Poisons_ by Arsenius Jigger, that was a familiar title! He'd used the same book in his six years at school- the first time around. He happened upon the potions and draughts aisle almost instantly, which held a gaggle of laughing boys and a solitary man with thick, brown hair that was shooting them dirty looks.

"-and then he said it was an accident!" The tallest, shaggy haired boy was gesturing animatedly. Harry scanned the shelves thoroughly, moving slowly in their direction without paying much attention.

No Arsenius Jigger yet, but he grabbed a promising volume of _Moste Potente Potions_. Even if he didn't have access to the materials, it was good to have on hand. He tried to peek inside but the cover wouldn't open for him, likely to keep people from just reading and not buying.

He had seen as well, according to the booklist, that he was put into Runes and Care of Magical Creatures without anyone having asked him. It was true he had a rudimentary understanding of runes from Hermione and their year on the run, but he was uneasy about the class itself.

There!

Right to the side of those rowdy boys were the spines of Arsenius Jigger's work. He quietly reached out to grab a copy, but it was jerked invisibly out of his hand and onto the floor.

"Neat trick, right? I've just got it from Zonko's, that new joke shop. It's only going to last a few more seconds so you should be able to pick up that copy, but I wouldn't go and pick a different one because that'd ruin the joke, wouldn't it? Repetitive is boring, got to remember that." The tallest boy with the loudest voice was speaking to Harry. "Brilliant, smashing idea- a joke shop! Oy, are you deaf mate?"

"Or maybe you've fucked with a mute, Jamie, nice going!"

"Shut up, Remus," James Potter said with an impressive scowl.

Harry swallowed deeply, and started to choke.

"You alright?!" His teenage father asked in alarm, throwing his arms out to grab Harry by the shoulders. "Sirius did you throw a Confuzzlement at him?!"

"It's not always me, you know," said _Sirius Black_ , Harry's _murdered godfather_ , who currently looked like a very punk fourteen year old.

"Fine," Harry got out of his seizing throat. "I'm fine, really, just- thirsty." He coughed for emphasis as the bout of panic passed him.

"Er, alright then," James Potter let go of the death grip he'd had on Harry's arms. "Didn't mean to accidentally choke you to death or something."

"Mm, it's all fine," Harry said absently, eyes tracing the familiar tousled hair and almond shaped eyes. He had the same sharp bones as his father, but James' jaw was more square than heart-shaped, and his hair was lighter too. He also had glasses on, round and gold rimmed, whereas Harry had put great research and help of professionals into fixing his eyesight during his year on the run.

Magicals didn't have issues like that customarily, unless it was a family trait. Although it connected Harry to his father, he couldn't risk someone just summoning his glasses and he'd be half blind. He'd _had_ to fix it, and that seemed to have carried over into the past, where Harry wasn't in need of eyewear.

"Where are you from?" Sirius asked suddenly, as they all had been standing there in awkward silence. Harry snapped his eyes onto him.

"I'm from-" the words stuck in his throat. "I'm from Beauxbatons, I guess. I don't really remember because a Ministry Healer messed up an Obliviate when my orphanage burnt up and an Auror brought me to a British healing ward. Now I live here, in London." Harry picked up the book from the floor now, which no longer leapt out of his hands. "Are you Hogwarts students?" He asked, nonchalant. "I'll be starting there this year as I have nothing to return to in France. It would apparently be too difficult to be surrounded by classmates I don't remember. Too overwhelming, or something like that."

"Yeah, we're Hogwarts students," said a very lean boy with a scar on his face. _R_ _emus_ , Harry realised. But Peter Pettigrew was no where to be seen, it was just the three of them and Harry. "I'm Remus Lupin, and this prat is James Potter, and this handsome devil is Sirius Black."

"Oh really, _he's_ a handsome devil and _I'm_ a prat?" James said, affronted.

"You get enough worship from Quidditch!" argued a clearly preening Sirius. "Let me have this."

"Please," he scoffed. "You've got at least a House-full of admirers. I know Blishwick is mooning--"

"Ignore them," Remus said conspiratorially. "And good luck with shopping and all. I'm sure we'll see each other around, what year are you going into?"

"Fourth," Harry answered, trying not to let the fondness he was feeling show on his face so out of place. 

"Same as us then," Remus said before turning back to their little trio huddle. Harry felt that while they were funny, a bit rude, and also at the same time very polite, that he wasn't welcome to just hang out with the clearly established friend group.

He went on his way to find only one other book outside of curriculum, _Living with Legilmens: Choose your Minds Wisely._ The Mind Arts were extremely fascinating, if extremely difficult to study. He was still a little bitter about his failure with Occlumency, but he couldn't find any books about that. This was his closest shot.

The shopkeeper was on the third floor, at a large table. When Harry walked over he smiled and took the stack of books with enthusiasm. 

Brandishing his wand he explained, "Prices!" Then each book floated up and off to make a new pile of checked books.

But very quickly the man had stopped gliding his wand over the books and was holding up _Moste Potente Potions_.

"How old are you, boy-o?" He asked, peering at Harry over his half moon glasses.

"Seventeen," Harry tried, with dread pooling in his stomach. The man only raised an eyebrow. "Oh alright, sixteen, but I'm in NEWT potions and I really want to impress my Professor this year. I'll be top of the class, I swear it!" A small, unwilling smile broke out on the shopkeeper's face.

"My oh my, they push you kids harder each year." And he _checked out the book_. Harry was always good with deception, it was only Snape and his cursory Legilmency that could really trip him up.

Harry could've cried with relief that that hadn't gone wrong. He hadn't realised that books could have an age restriction on them, no wonder he couldn't open the book- it wasn't just because he hadn't bought it, it was also because young kids can't be just reading any old book of magic.

"Mind magic?" the shopkeeper said to the Legilmens book. "Hard to do without an affinity and certainly when so young, but you've an avaricious reader aren't you? Little Ravenclaws," he chuckled to himself. "Knowledge exists to be pursued, I suppose."

Harry carefully restocked his reading and carried the tower of books towards Warding, on the second floor.

"Hm?" Professor Kuttlege said. "Ah yes, give it here, I'll place it in your trunk." She magicked up a shrunken trunk and the books shot themselves in, one by one, from Harry's arms. "We'll leave it shrunk until you're back at the orphanage and I'll switch it back, as you cannot perform magic outside of magical places or accompanied by a magical of age. That would be problematic if you wished to be prepared on your readings for the coming school year, and couldn't un-shrink your trunk, hm?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, the imagery of his teenage father and friends still flashing in his eyes.

~^~

Even the lingering thrills of the day couldn't brighten up Skyreach Orphanage. Upon returning, even the sheer joy of seeing Sirius and Remus alive and James Potter in the flesh was dampened.

Professor Kuttlege left him without preamble at the gates of the dreary building after sternly instructing him how to get onto the Hogwarts Express platform.

"And study!" She barked while turning on her heel to apparate.

Harry nearly groaned as he dragged his normal-sized trunk up the weed infested pathway to the care home. This would be as miserable as any summer with the Dursleys. _But,_ a traitorous voice in his head said, _it won't hurt as much because these people aren't your family_.

And as he curled up on his threadbare sheets that night, he took comfort in that. 

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a piece of feedback from one of yous = one hour writing, and that's a promise. I'm thrumming with excitement over this story, it's bound to be very action based


	6. Summer at Skyreach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please keep that in mind if you feel out of place reading, you've probably gone a chappie or two ahead :)
> 
> This chapter and the next two that go up today are dedicated to xxhineani!! I'll be releasing them earlier for you, babes xx
> 
> Cameo by Voldemort this chapter, couldn't resist.

~^~

"Come on, Harry," the older boy wheedled. "Let us in!" Another round of pounding rained upon the old door. Harry quickly shoved his trunk under his bed, and just in case, his wand under a floorboard.

"Let us in, freak!" Johnson hollered in that clear-as-day Cockney accent. So he had joined up arms with Bill, then. Harry sat miserably on his bed and looked up at the droopy ceiling, wishing desperately that it was already September first.

It was not, of course. Today was only June twenty-fourth and it'd been barely a week since Harry had been to Diagon Alley. Once the other boys had heard that he was off to a private boarding school come fall, they'd become relentless in their standard bullying, not to mention the new theme that Harry must be a poofter, if he was going to go to boarding school.

He couldn't exactly sit down their type and explain how bisexuality was completely fine and acceptable, when he knew from experience how that would go. The Dursleys hadn't been fond of _anything_ different. Once, just once, Harry had defended a gay man on the telly that Uncle Vernon was verbally abusing. Had taken over a year for him to hear the end of that one.

He obviously never risked telling his relatives he was bisexual, after his rude awakening in third year. Harry'd kept it a closely guarded secret until he began to notice that that particular prejudice wasn't present in the wizarding world.

 _Just blood supremacy,_ Harry thought tiredly.

"Wait till focking dinner bell!" Bill shouted and the door shook as he kicked at it in frustration. "Lads'll give you a right good kicking for supper, how's that?" And he was clomping away with Johnson following, stampeding down the straining stairwell.

Harry waited until the sound of them had long faded before unlatching the many hooks of the door. He wondered what this room had been used for before it was an orphanage, for it to have so many locks.

It creaked open just a bit, to reveal a completely empty hall down to the disappearing stairs. Debating on how much it was worth it, he made a break for it, skidding down the four flights and into the main hall. He saw one of the caretakers, a man with the beginnings of a hunchback, lurking by the feeding hall's door. It was nearly dinnertime after all. Harry weighed his stealth abilities and again made a break for it- straight out of the main hall into the gated courtyard.

And then right out of the rusted gate into London proper.

~^~

_It was worth the walk_ , Harry thought as he took a deep breath of spices and warm meat.

The stalls were steamy, alluring. One man was rotating an enormous pan larger than Harry's whole body, filled with yellow rice, and another was pouring the sauce in that made the pan hiss and bubble. A third man bustled over with an apron and a large stirring spoon. It smelt spicy and rich.

A rattling, deafening train passed by overhead but that didn't interrupt the fluidity of the market.

Borough Market was one of the first discoveries Harry had made living in London, mostly because it was so infamously spoken of, and secondly because Harry was very often hungry.

Currently he was most attracted to hot, sugared nuts, only a trader away. Ah, just his luck! They were indeed handing out samples.

If you are as shameless as Harry, you can easily fill up on sampling from the many offers at Borough. With a paper cup half full of honey-roasted peanuts he began to make his rounds, managing to scarf down an array of impressive cheeses, cold meats, and a couple warm hunks of bread.

London was nothing like Harry remembered, not that he'd ever spent much time in the muggle parts. There was an air of tension, too, and he knew why. Since arriving in Skyreach he'd made away with the matron's papers after she threw them out.

This month alone a student was killed protesting, the IRA bombed Westminster, and just today the British government confessed to nuclear weaponry testing. Harry was only glad he missed the oil crisis when the three-day week was announced!

People were on edge, crime was up, and most neighborhoods Harry _did_ know had yet to be gentrified. But at the same time, there was a larger sense of community than he'd ever noticed in the muggle world.

On his way to leave after loitering at the stalls for far long enough, the nut lady stopped him, pinching his cheek while thrusting a bag into his hands.

It was long past lights out when he crept back up to his hovel on the fourth floor at Skyreach but it wasn't as if anyone checked up on them. With a full stomach and a dopey smile, Harry spooned his bag of candied almonds from that lovely vendor and fell asleep instantly.

~^~

As a frantic biker nearly took him out, Harry realised he'd never learned to ride a bike- there was no one wanting to teach him after all.

It was August seventh, and the sun was unusually strong today. That was the only observation of any interest, as Harry's days were filled with being beaten by bullies or locked up for escaping into London.

Meanwhile in Wiltshire, very interesting things indeed are underway.

A low laugh escaped the man before him, seductive in its richness. A lone finger traced the rim of his tumbler, elegant and limber as he'd often enviously thought back in school. He dared to meet those half-lidded eyes, to face his own curiosity.

"Abraxas."

The man in question had his back bowed, head hung as he looked through a curtain of silvery blond hair. Taking the unspoken permission for what it was, he straightened up.

That sinful face had long since matured from their schooldays of revelry and lingering baby fat. Sharp and angular, poised and tense, and still sporting that coiffed hairstyle that was _beyond_ outdated.

He made it work. Tom always did.

"My oldest friend," Riddle continued. "My closest compatriot. It has been a while, has it not?"

"I am glad you have agreed to meet me." Abraxas turns imploring eyes to him. "As you see, since you returned to the Isles in '69... there have been whispers, my dearest friend, whispers of a name I may have once knew..."

"Five years and you seek me out now?" He asked pleasantly. Abraxas was not deceived by his schoolmate's good mood, although he was unable to tell what Tom was thinking.

"You have become... reclusive. I still remember, clear as day, all the things we used to speak of before in school, and then you vanished after working less than a year at Burke's. You were meant to join us in the Ministry-"

"Join you?" He hissed in a familiarly displeased way. " _Join_ you? On what grounds would I have been allowed within a floor of the Wizengamot chambers? You too easily forget my station, friend."

"We were going to change things!" Abraxas' indignation overcame his carefulness, as it usually did. "You spoke of it yourself- and then you abandoned us to travel, citing a loss of interest in politics? Then you return with little to no fanfare- do you _know_ how long it took me to find out you were back on British soil? I actually heard first of a radical reformist gaining support in our circles, a man that _goes by the name of Lord Voldemort._ Forgive me, Tom, if I find your coinciding return to Britain suspicious." Said man raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"I pursued knowledge, Abraxas, as I am wont to do. And travel allowed me to obtain much without being encumbered by my blood status. But I am not here to explain myself to you," he said sharply, "but rather to move forward. Tom Riddle would like to call the Knights, if they are amenable."

Abraxas felt his jaw slacken and he swallowed deep before he could spit out a single word.

"Yes," he said breathlessly. "Yes, of course." Tom smiled, as languid and attractive as it'd always been.

"And for you, Abraxas... a reward for your silence?" He furrowed his brow in confusion. Tom let the smile spread open, canines glinting in the waning fireplace light.

"...Tom?" He voiced uncertainly.

"For not sharing your assumptions, friend, that your associates bow before a half blood. How intelligent of you to hold that to your chest! Then again, I'd forgotten how we were so very close... there was much I told you. There was much Lord Voldemort entrusted you with, wasn't there? It is a shame that I had forgotten of your values."

"Nothing has not changed for me," Abraxas bravely shared. "Nor will it."

"So will you serve both, familias Malfoy? As my Knight- as Tom Riddle's- and as Lord Voldemort's?"

Abraxas bowed his back again, feeling the awkward pain of being in your late forties creep up his spine. He'd just recovered from a terrible bout of Dragon Pox, leaving him susceptible to age in ways most wizards are not. "You, in all forms, are my liege."

"It was an oversight," Tom said, contemplating. "To have forgotten the one with whom I shared such fabulous imaginations. Oh, and how lucky are you to possess enough foresight not to share the story of Lord Voldemort! Imagine how differently this could have gone, and likely much earlier, old friend."

"I would never act in a way that wouldn't serve you." _It's been that way since we were kids_ , he didn't add. _Don't you remember what an impact you can make?_

"Wouldn't you?" He phrased it for Malfoy curiously. "Very well, very well, enough of my hounding. I can feel your intents clear as ice and I know you are still recovering from your illness. Stand up straight, or better yet take a seat here by the fire and we can speak of all matters."

With a weak smile of thanks he sunk into the chair opposite Riddle.

Abraxas knew by now, after many years of passable mediocrity, that he was never going to be like Tom Riddle. He thought he understood that when they were boys together, but he didn't, not really. Now, after years of life went on by and he settled in to his 'place' in it, he knew that he wasn't an extraordinary person. That's fine, of course. If everyone was extraordinary then it'd be a meaningless word.

Tom would never be satisfied with the life Abraxas lead. He likely disparages it in the recesses of his mind. Tom looked at the world differently, he always had, in a way that Abraxas couldn't.

But he saw Tom at the very least, for what he was. Worth ten of Abraxas for one, and simply extraordinary for two. The rest was...

Unforgiving, manipulative, cruel- but also funny, exciting, an excellent musician.

He was a drug, like those muggle cigarettes they used to smuggle or those little happy pills. Tom was the strongest out of all the drugs Abraxas had tried. To this day he still couldn't shake the withdrawal symptoms. Though he tried to push those thoughts away, he could see even now the dark amusement glittering in Tom's eyes.

The boy, man now, always knew how much power he had over him. Over everyone, it seemed. For the time they sat there by the fire in his study, Abraxas forgot all about his failing marriage and difficult teen son. The boring, miserable aspects of normal life paled next to Tom Riddle and the life he breathed into everything, everyone, around him, even after thirty years of separation.

Because Abraxas was still in love with the east London boy that flitted around underneath the veneer of Tom Riddle's polite facade and for a little while he could indulge himself in the feeling again that Tom rather liked him too.

Harry Potter, bane of Tom Riddle's existence a short 24 years later, was going to bed without supper as Tom himself sipped cognac.

Like it's always been, those two roads are meant to converge- for better or worse.

But not for now.

~^~

Ever so eventually the days crawled by, and it was Sunday the first of September. Harry could've jumped for joy as he borrowed bus fare from the head matron.

"Behave," she barked while he lugged his trunk out of that miserable excuse for a care home.

"Don't I always," he muttered to himself. But the resentment faded fast as he stepped off the bus onto King's Cross station.

He was going home.

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts is looming in the near future (the next chapter!) and Harry Potter will officially begin his chaos
> 
> And because I'm a bit of a history nerd, I have to clarify that I know that the in the 1970s (and well into the 80s), the Borough lost its charm and attention, not to mention the stopping of wholesale trade... the New Covent Garden could've been used as the location for Harry's snacking, but it wasn't established until 11th November '74. Also I imagine Harry living in Southwark. The Borough, while having lost popularity and was an area rich with pubs, wasn't undergoing a re-haul like Covent Garden. That... and I really just love the Borough market and it's loud trains. If you're in London you're bound to see me hanging around! I know there's loads more markets, but call it artistic license if you need to excuse my choice lol.
> 
> All other referenced happenings in muggle Britain are accurate retellings of the hardships faced in those times. For real, it was hectic y'all


	7. Harry's Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are Harry, Hogwarts! Try not to make any enemies on the first day, hm?

~^~

  
The gleaming train was like the culmination of all Harry's happiest moments, but the ride itself was lonesome. He didn't want to encroach on the nervously chattering first years cluttered into compartments, and he wasn't welcome among tight-knit upper years.

He did see Remus on the platform and wanted to give him a wave, but the lanky teen looked right over him like a complete stranger. And technically they were strangers- this wasn't his Remus.

Other than a mindless amble down the corridor to find the loo, Harry spent his ride alone watching and countryside and letting his nervous thoughts run away with him.

Over the summer, as interchangeably droll and miserable as it was, he'd managed to suss out what he'd make of himself. Harry'd never been one for being idle. It irked him more than anything that he had, like so many other times in his short life, no idea what was going on.

The dream- or the death- that place he'd been to twice now- had made little sense. He understood that the Horcrux had still been there, as horrifying and miserable as ever, and that an old man, although not Dumbledore this time, came to talk to him ambiguously about destiny.

He held the Horcrux... the voice that sounded like himself spoke in his head... he was to do 'it' right this time...

It all was very vague, but Harry was very used to working with vague. So he accepted it as one must when they wake up 24 years in the past, when they most certainly shouldn't even exist.

He thought not only of how very odd it all was, but of what it could mean for the people he'd left behind.

Not only Ron and Hermione, and Molly and George Weasley- but all the wonderful, wonderful people that hadn't died yet.

He thought about the boys he met in the bookshop- his father not yet dead by Voldemort's hand, Remus not yet a recluse, and Sirius not scarred by twelve years of reliving his worst memories.

Harry could, just maybe, change that. He knew the future- to an extent- and certainly knew more about what was coming than most people. He could list most Death Eaters off the top of his head, and if he had enough time to spare, could look into any more fringe groups looking to start ruckus. He felt confident that he had somewhat of an upper hand, until he remembered he was barely fourteen and living in a muggle orphanage. He didn't even have access to the wizarding papers!

After the Professor had taken him to Diagon Alley, he'd gone back a couple of times to meander about, but it was pretty far from Skyreach. And as it was, he didn't have much money. Heeding the Professor's warnings, he didn't want to spend it all in one go. He didn't have a vault of family wealth in the seventies because he wasn't supposed to exist...

Which was another thing entirely- was he related to the Potters? How does he fit into a world where he hasn't been born yet? How would he even figure that out?

It was all too much, and he wished he had Ron to commiserate with and Hermione to straighten him out. _You've got to prioritise_ , she would say.

He could make halfway thought-out plans all he liked all summer, but he couldn't make people take an underage wizard- with no connections- seriously. He needed to be someone who was reliable and likeable, which he'd always managed well. Maybe he could get Dumbledore to listen, the old wizard was alive and brilliant and he'd always had his suspicions of Tom Riddle.

But then he might be suspicious of Harry- a boy who had virtually no background but a wealth of information of a secret criminal organisation. Harry remembered what Hermione said of wizards who meddled with time, it was one of the few hardline rules in their world.

He really needed to learn Occlumency. This rudimentary meditating was not going to protect him from anyone halfway suspicious of him and halfway decent with the Mind Arts.

Harry had been thinking about this again when the sky began to darken and the train pulled into a familiar worn station. On autopilot, he yanked himself and his trunk out of the compartment and onto the gleaming platform.

"Oy! Move outta the way!" A trunk hit him full on in the back, but he managed to catch himself on his hands, his own trunk clunking onto the ground.

"Sorry, sorry," he said complacently, pushing himself up to stand again. He grabbed the handle of his trunk and brought it upright again. "Still, you should've been looking out." He met the big, blue eyes of a sneering blond.

A familiar tale.

"You're lucky I only bumped you," he said as though Harry hadn't spoken. "A good lesson for the future, twerp."

"Arse," Harry said automatically, giving the kid the finger. Not really caring about how mature it was.

"Pillock!"

"Who the hell are you?" Harry swirled to face the new voice, which sounded only curious rather than aggressive. "Rather big for a first year, the hell they feeding you mate? Perry lay off the new kids, better yet see a mind Healer- you're far too high strung."

The blond boy, 'Perry', scoffed and turned his nose up.

"I'm going into fourth, actually," Harry said, wary of the easy familiarity this boy had with the twat that had practically assaulted him.

"Have you got a name?"

"Er, Harry Potter."

"Potter like James Potter? My, I thought you looked familiar! A bit softer aren't you though, but maybe I only see that cause you haven't hexed me yet."

"Well, the same rat's nest on top," Perry added nastily.

The other boy sent him a good-natured, "Oh, shut _up_ , Perry." Harry himself got a long once over, from head to toe. "So I haven't heard of any Harry Potters before... are you a bastard?"

"Orphan," Harry said shortly, not sure if he liked this guy any better than Perry. "If you're looking for a bastard, give a once over to your friend there. Have _you_ got a name?"

"Edgar Murk, Ed's fine," he said happily. "Suppose that was a tad rude of me, wasn't it? But to be fair, if you're a Potter-Potter, that is, of the Potter family, that'd be right gossip. They're an old, old family. How come you're here?"

"School, I'd reckon."

"You can't be a first year, mate."

"Like I said, fourth," Harry said without any animosity. He was slowly being put at ease by Ed's smile and charisma, against his better judgement.

"So better question is: where have you been all this time?"

"France, Beauxbatons. And before you ask I don't remember what the school's like, or the teachers, or the classmates. Ministry healer sort of gave me an Obliviate- they said I'm lucky to remember general information. He could've wiped all my magic related memories."

Ed whistled low. "That sounds like the Ministry alright, screwing up. Well, just when they get too involved. What with that business in France- oh that must be how they came across you! Anyways, my mum reckons it's completely against wizard-nature to be getting all involved with international affairs, or any affairs on an institutional level. Any matter is a matter for the people to settle, we're magical folk. Very reasonable! Fact is, that trouble in France only happened because of their governing body getting too handsy- too many restrictions."

"Have they stopped the fighting?" Harry asked curiously. "I've been in muggle London."

"I think it quieted down enough for us and Germany to step out around end of July- French Ministry released a statement claiming its been settled but I hear they've still got some random breakouts. Muggle London?"

"Orphan," Harry reminded him. Ed shrugged.

"Right, I'm a bit absentminded- so my mum says. Sorry, Harry Potter." Harry kind of liked how no one walking around them really reacted to his name. "So what do muggles do with orphans? They are so rare in the wizarding world, and we've got large families so... why aren't you with family, or god-family?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "I was in an orphanage in France too."

"Ed!" A girl shouted from the bridge above the train. "Ed, we won't save your sorry arse a seat!"

"Ah, right, got to go- Perry, let's- thanks for excusing my friend, Harry, and for allowing the miniature interrogation- and welcome to Hogwarts!" The sandy haired Ed jogged with his trunk, Perry gliding behind him with a dramatic swirl of his cloak that eerily reminded Harry of Snape.

Harry too, followed. He was to take the carriages with the upper years. Kuttlege had explained along with the school platform in a reminding letter, that he was to get off the train and follow peers of his age group to a set of carriages that would fly them to the castle. This, apparently, was a scheme of the Headmaster for him to 'mingle'. Even through the written word, Harry could hear Professor Kuttlege's sneering distaste for the concept.

Harry did get into a carriage, but no one really gave him a second glance, preferring to involved themselves with themselves, understandably. It actually took some of the pressure off.

As the carriages swooped through the air, and Hogwarts came into full purview, Harry heard, or rather felt, a strange purring. It vibrated in his head, warm and not _entirely_ alien. If he didn't know better, he would think he was overly pleased to be back, but his work with categorising his mind over the summer (with that nifty Legilmens book) told him otherwise. 

That was a foreign presence.

In his head.

Harry tried not to let the horror spill onto his face- what was it? A quick glance at the five others in the carriage, chattering aimlessly, did not reveal the possible presence of a Legilmens. He cleared his mind best he could, created a focus memory (which the book said was very important). He chose a rainy day in the orphanage, watching the ceiling of his room leak.

It didn't shake the strange sense of not being alone, in fact the presence seemed upset. Maybe it knew Harry had noticed it? The Living with Legilmens book was not necessarily a Occlumency guide, but it helped enormously with the basics and how to suss out Legilmens' themselves.

Harry thought studiously of the faint drip and steady patter of the rain from the wooden beams of the care home, and felt the foreignness slink away, its earlier happiness muted.

With that taken care of, he gave the carriage group a closer look. The two girls were involved in themselves, tugging a photograph between them with giggles, but both looked a tad upset. Harry carefully looked to the three boys on his left; one occupied in a nameless tome, one nearly asleep, and the third staring out the window with singular focus.

He didn't recognise any of them from his future, but now he'd have to keep a close eye on the five. If someone tried to get into his head and found out he was some sort of dead, not-yet-born traveller... the consequences could be enormous.

He _really_ had to learn Occlumency.

~^~

The spiralling Towers of Hogwarts were pristine, every stone in place and a bold standout against the midnight blue sky. As it always was, the stars shone brightly over the school, galaxies and constellations often unseen in the Muggle world were luminous here- as if Hogwarts itself were displaced out of time and world.

Harry felt very much at home.

The walk into the Great Hall was when people began to take notice of him ("Is he in Hufflepuff?" "A Ravenclaw?" "I've never seen him- Fortuna?"), and he was pulled aside by Professor McGonagall, tight bun in place with considerably less grey. 

"We'll have you sorted before the first years, and it'll be explained as to your situation. Mister Potter, was it?" 

"Yes, ma'am." Professor McGonagall gave him that look she would when she was trying to discern something mischievous.

"Alright, go on up to that stool in front of the Head Table, the one with the hat on it, yes." She said finally, and strode up with him to guide him into placing the Hat on his head. Harry thought he put on enough of a show of interest about the machinations of the Hat for it to be clear he'd had no clue what the Sorting consisted of, and then he jammed it on.

When the hat spoke of Slytherin, Harry felt nothing of his original panic when he was eleven. There was no Draco Malfoy to avoid, or Ron to impress by getting into Gryffindor. He felt no commitment to the light applause he received from the curious green-themed table as he was Sorted to them.

He slid into an open spot on the bench, with his back to the wall, facing the rest of the Hall. He had a perfect vantage point to see Sirius Black at the Gryffindor table, laughing at something, and a pudgy boy at his side swirling a fork around in the air. It might'v even been Peter. He was close to the teachers, and the student closest to him were craning to get a look without being too obvious, as Headmaster Dumbledore explained their new student.

"Every year we are lucky, to welcome new, wonderful students to these halls," he began. "Sometimes however, they come from a matter of unfortunate circumstance. Our newest fourth year student, Harry Potter, a new _Slytherin_ student- congratulations Mister Potter- has been displaced from France. Our Ministry has done him a disservice in the manner of memory charms awry, and offering him a welcoming place at our fine institution is the least we could do, when his recollections of his old school were robbed away. Thankfully not his lessons- I suppose those really did stick, hm? All a teacher could hope for, I suppose." The Headmaster hummed and Harry couldn't help but smile a little. The man always had a peculiar way about him but it wasn't dislikable. "The first years will be in just shortly, Professor McGonagall, if you will? And as I said, a _welcoming_ place at Hogwarts. For _all_ our new students." 

And so the witch returned to the entrance of the Great Hall, while the present students broke out into murmurs and idle chitchat.

Harry couldn't engage his peers just yet, as he couldn't tear his eyes away from Dumbledore- or McGonagall- or the distant face of Sirius Black- or Rubeus Hagrid up at the far end of the Head Table.

It wasn't that seeing all these people he knew to be dead was necessarily traumatising, it rather just made him want to stare... soak up their faces into his memory. Younger, happier, alive.

And they would certainly be staying that way, if he could do anything about it.

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per usual, lemme know what u think so I can know if I'm doing something wrong! love y'all for reading anyways x


	8. Wizengamot Fall Sessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chappie for my lovely reader- xxhineani - and of course love for the rest of the readers!! Deeply appreciate anyone dropping in, and if you like it, fabulous :)
> 
> if you feel out of place reading, two chapters are up so far today, so go back one to check!

**September 2nd, 1974**

The Daily Prophet was a worthwhile investment and so Harry had set up a delivery rounds for himself as soon as he'd got up the next morning. It was a hike to the owlery, and quite chilly, but it certainly woke him up.

"Here, come on," he coaxed a fine, brown school owl down. He sent off five sickles, a ten month student subscription to the newspaper. He'd asked his new Housemates last night what the price was, and was pleased to hear of the student discount and that prices were clearly generally lower in 1974 for Daily Prophet deliveries. 

He'd also furiously avoided eye contact with a knobbly kneed teenage Snape, who was wildly curious about him. The dangerously thin boy managed to contain most of curiosity last night when Harry went to shut himself in his bed before nine, but Harry felt, given the chance, Snape would have a barrage of questions ready.

The sharp mind and quick tongue he'd had as an adult hadn't yet hardened with years of acidic experience, but the thirst to stick his nose in everyone's business surely was present. 

He headed back to the dungeons after going up four floors on the Grand Staircase on his way to Gryffindor Tower. He wanted a hot shower, and was starting to get hungry as the sun yawned its way over the Scottish countryside.

He muttered the password ( _"Fabelwesen"_ ) and made his way to the neatly concealed narrow stairs to the dormitories. His dormitory was the sixteenth door up, a gleaming light wood door. Harry rather liked the Slytherin House, although it did have that certain ominous decoration-style, with muted colours and the lurching watery depths of the lake walling in one side of the common room.

He'd managed to not wake his fellow students, and crept into the washroom just shy of half-past six. By the time he'd emerged from his hot soak, he felt liberated (the orphanage never afforded such water wasting) and his Housemates had all awoken to various states of _still-too-tired_. Only Snape sat peacefully on his made bed, lying on his stomach reading from a slim novel.

Harry cheerfully got his robes on and slid his satchel over one shoulder. Now, he was starving for some Hogwarts breakfast. He felt like Ron likely did every meal ever.

~^~

Biting into his cantaloupe, Harry wondered for the millionth time why he was eating it. He didn't _like_ cantaloupe, it tasted like watery something-not-good. But he continued to methodically eat the two thick slices he'd slid onto his plate. The toast and jam was much more satisfying, as were the eggs.

He felt like he kind of liked to do things he didn't like, just sometimes.

Snape, unsurprisingly, sat down next to Harry, hands twitching with interest. At least he'd scarfed some food down before the interrogation begun.

Without preamble he said drily, "What an accent you have, for a Frenchman."

"We were taught British English in school." Harry said after swallowing the last of his unsatisfying cantaloupe, feeling like he'd accomplished something. "I've been told my birth family could've been British, too."

"Oh, of course, that could make sense." The narrow eyes of his Housemate said something different.

"Snape's always looking for a mystery, I swear it," said a girl loudly, sitting opposite Harry. "Don't mind it. Or him. He'll scurry away to his books soon enough."

"Shut up," the boy snarled. Harry thought his hurt was plainly obvious. Snape seemed to be pretty overly defensive, but it wasn't his place to get in the middle of that outburst. Maybe he just liked snarling- it had certainly been Harry's experience.

The owls began to flood in above their heads, swooping for deliveries- and snacks from loving owners. Harry was pleasantly surprised to receive his first Daily Prophet mail. He had to look into magical owl breeding, and whatever the damn hell made them fly so fast. He had sent for a subscription just over an hour and half ago, at most.

_Warbeck on Wiggleworm_

_Wiggleworm flu is making its rounds, in all circles it appears._ _The latest in a grievous outbreak of the pest-sourced flu, famed personality and singer Celestina Warbeck has been admitted to Saint Mungo's with the newest strain..._

Harry flipped through, giving the sports column a glance as a particularly handsome dive caught the Dublin Quidditch team the snitch. The page four spread was where he faltered- he might've even overlooked it, already having considered the day's paper to be nothing more than trivial tidbits. But there it was, buried in a long-winded political spiel of the page four... the Knights of Walpurgis, it read.

It had to be Riddle. His old school gang's name? Couldn't be coincidence.

With more care, Harry let his eyes settle on the top of the page, taking in every word.

_Fall Sessions Commence_

_With the Murk Paterfamilias leading the helm this Monday, the second of September, the Wizengamot called their third public session in without Chief Warlock. After the untimely death of former Chief Loswren, the parties were held off on assignment-of-Chief pending under investigation. Paterfamilias Black was unanimously intended for position Chief Warlock, that is until the Department of Law Enforcement halted proceedings three sessions ago._

_The floor opened four months ago, after the close of Spring open sessions, for relevant parties to propose coalition, formation, and establishment to the Wizengamot. In a short term shocker, a new contender for party majority emerged only two weeks before opening of fall sessions and closing of proposals. The rather romantically-named Knights of Walpurgis hold 29 percent of Wizengamot members in favour of the proposition given, after merely two weeks deliberation._

_Public sessions now being open will allow us and our readers to explore the political trajectory that the Wizengamot is now diving towards, and with such hasty fervour._ _Expecting much of these sweetly called Knights, we most certainly will._

_We continue watching out, even more so, for DMLE interference of the Wizengamot to fade. If not Paterfamilias Black, who would be intended for Chief? It had been discussed extensively, and from reliable sources the names of Rowle, Jenkins, and even Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, have been mentioned as contenders. The investigation in name of Chief Loswren..._

The Knights of Walpurgis were not mentioned in the rest of the paper, and Harry really scoured it this time. Thoroughly and while angrily munching buttered toast.

"Something the matter?" The girl across Harry had reached out a hand to his arm, over the biscuits. Harry shook his head to rid his face of the eerie intensity it may have gained.

"Nothing." He smiled. "Maybe a bit of a headache coming on. I think I'll look around for a bit, until class." The schedule said first up at nine, Defence Against the Dark Arts. They had time. Harry abruptly left the breakfast table- he was finished eating anyways- and left before anyone else could take an interest in him. 

He dove behind a portrait of a town founder from the 1500s near the Grand Staircase, that should lead to the third floor despite having no stairs. 

This shortcut was not as short as he'd remembered, in fact, it seemed to be a complete different route. Could passages change like the staircases? Harry couldn't recall that ever happening.

Well, he also hadn't ever time travelled 24 years into the past, or turned back into a fourteen year old before. Shit happens.

As he turned down another left he skidded to a stop, quietly as he could.

Harry ducked back around the corner, seeing two outlines talking in hushed tones. Beyond that was a small door- finally, the passageway came to an end. Harry'd been a little worried the castle had swallowed him.

But hidden discussions never bode well, he knew from a lot of experience, and so he leaned around the side to observe (overhear) the two people obstructing the path back to the main floors.

~^~

"You're one of my favourite people, Rem, probably my favourite person. You're always here, you know? For me, I mean." Sirius coughed into his hand, most likely just trying to hide his red cheeks.

Remus was stood there silently, but in his head he was screaming. _Me, me, me? Me over James?_ He took a couple breaths, trying not to overreact. It was a plain statement, a throwaway, it meant _nothing_. "Y-yeah...you're of my favourite people, too." His and Sirius' eyes went wide when Remus was shoved forward- and his suddenly his lips were pressed to Sirius.

"Hahaha! Black and Loopy sitting in a tree!" Peeves yelled. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" he swooped through the corridor's ceiling.

Remus and Sirius however, were frozen. Remus had a muggleborn mother, who was raised in the muggle world, and a straight father. Homosexuality was not a topic broached in their household. His mother still found it distasteful that magic folk disregarded heteronormative lifestyle. Remus was frozen because this had never crossed his mind. Sirius had an aunt on both sides of the family that were gay, and a cousin who had a long string of male paramours. Sirius was frozen only because this was _Remus_ , one of his best friends. 

Neither was pulling away though, with faces so close they were almost touching.

Sirius put a hand up to stop Remus from saying anything when he looked like he would literally vomit words. "Look, Rem... I know what people say about me but that was my first proper kiss and..."

"It was my first kiss too- I'm sorry Sirius, I really hadn't meant to." Remus wished Peeves was alive, so he could kill him.

Letting out a sigh, Sirius ran his fingers through his shaggy head of hair. "It was just- really- a touching of lips, so it doesn't have to actually mean anything. You were pushed forward by that stupid Poltergeist, it wasn't like it was on purpose." He swallowed, his foot starting to tap on the floor. "Yes, you are one of my greatest friends, and... well, we can just forget it happened, if you want. If we want. It meant nothing." Remus was shocked at how hard it was to hear the last sentence, he'd barely begun to notice how Sirius looked quite grown up this year, and had lovely arms.

Biting his bottom lip, Remus was still thinking about how soft the other boy's lips were. But what he said was, "Yeah, right, of course we can just forget anything happened, and continue being friends. The great friends we are, but just that. I mean, forget what? Nothing to forget-"

It happened fast, shocking the young werewolf when he was yanked forward.

Sirius had turned on his heel and shoved Remus into the wall, kissing him hard while gripping both of his shoulders, his eyes screwed shut. Remus let out a small breathy sound, before closing his own eyes and kissing Sirius back; both not doing a sloppy job of it as they'd never kissed anyone before and were copying what they'd seen from peers and parents. Sirius felt a shiver go through his body, he slowly opened his eyes at the same time Remus decided to, both of them really seeing each other in this new, very attractive light.

"...This isn't forgetting it, is it?" Sirius said, scant centimetres from Remus' thin mouth.

"...No... it's not..." Remus leaned forward, capturing Sirius's lips with his own once again.

The two fourteen year old boys slowed the pace of their kissing, both embarrassed by their lack of experience but all the more eager to learn. Sirius' hands slid down to Remus' lean waist and they broke the kiss again, breathing deeply, warm in a very nice way.

~^~

Harry felt extremely out of his depth. He hadn't known either of the men to be gay, or even bisexual, but that would explain a lot of subtext in their relationship in Harry's future. And even more so, it explained better Remus' reluctance to pursue Tonks if he had once been intimate with Sirius, who had only recently passed.

 _Can learn something new everyday_ , he thought.

Mostly he was just embarrassed and uncomfortable he'd watched two men he considered to be pseudo-parental figures have their first kiss with each other, while he lurked in the hallway like a pervert.

~^~

"We should get back, we've got to tell James and Peter it all worked out, and we won't be anywhere _near_ late to DADA."

"And, er-"

"We could tell them," Sirius said haltingly. "About, um, this."

"Or we could wait," Remus said quickly. "See where we go, er, and all."

"Right," Sirius said with more confidence. "Right, yes, good."

And the two Marauders made for the same door Harry was waiting to use, their unknown spectator.

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spelling fuck ups, criticism, thoughts on the progression, opinion of the characters, what'll happen next, what you hate or what you like...
> 
> let me know xx


	9. The Best Defence is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the roof's on fire let the mfer burn
> 
> I'm sorry this is so delayed, I'm back to staying full-time in the hospital. :(

**_Still_ September 2nd, 1974**

"So, Harry _Potter_?" James leaned against the desk in front of Harry and Snape.

Harry had been early to the Defence classroom, and was still trying to forget the intimate moment he'd stumbled upon. Snape had been an easy distraction. He'd been nearly as early as Harry, and slid into the seat next to him with a strong side-eye. Harry'd actually managed to learn a bit about the new Professor- a Sir Keenan Murtitle- because Snape had heard from Mary who'd heard from Pericles who'd talked to Leanne who was cousins with Timothy Murtitle. The man had worked with the Auror department before, but never in any official capacity. The burgeoning friendliness between this Potter and Snape of all people was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the class. Namely, James and crew.

"My name's James Potter- actually Remy reminded me we met in the bookstore on Diagon, right after exams. So that memory loss story was real, huh?"

It tickled Harry that he was being called a kid by his own father, but also by a fourteen-year-old when he was four years older. Technically.

"Yeah, I remember you three." Harry bravely broached the subject that James had likely approached him for. "So, Potter, huh? There's two of us."

"Weird. I haven't really got much extended family," James shared. "Most killed off in Grindelwald's war. Reckon I'll ask mum to ask the Paterfamilias to check the Tapestry. Maybe you're not just a muggle orphan."

"Well, can't be muggle if he's here, can he?" Harry nearly started. He'd forgotten little Snape was still next to him.

"Right observant you are," James shot back. "I just meant that maybe you're not, like, er. Maybe we're family. I'll write to my mum, yeah? Can't imagine what an orphanage even is- proper witches and wizards treasure life. We don't," James shuddered. "shove it in any old place. Do you remember anything about your family?"

"They, um-" Harry couldn't tell the truth. "No, I'm sorry. They called me Harry Martin before my Hogwarts letter came- that's a very nifty quill Hogwarts must have."

Harry honestly hadn't expected James Potter to be this heartfelt and, well, kind, to a complete stranger and a Slytherin student to boot. From what he'd learned of his father, he was a notorious jokester and vehement hater of all things green, excluding Lily Evans' eyes.

"Oh yeah, wicked runes. I think it's made up of one of the languages that fell out. And really- it's alright you don't know, just wondering if we had anything to go on. Shame you're in Slytherin, though you've no idea what that's meant to mean, I suppose." A sneer danced across the Potter's strong face, and Harry for a second failed to see any resemblance between them. "Anyways, I'll let you know what she says when she writes back, yeah? And next class, try to avoid this one." He jerked his chin at Snape. "Has it out for Potters."

"Just you, really," Snape said in that familiarly low, deadly tone. It was considerably less intimidating on a teen boy.

 _And there was the Slytherin hate I was expecting_ , Harry thought. _But he seemed to put the family connection above that. Maybe magicals really do treasure life that much._

For just a moment, his thoughts drifted to another orphan, some years ago, with no possible family waiting for him in Hogwarts castle.

The wandering thought was interrupted as James loped back to his seat next to Remus and the Professor appeared from a door atop a staircase at the front of the room.

Without preamble he swooped down to the blackboard, giving it a curious look, before turning on the class. "Standard Hogwarts curriculum doesn't establish the roots of non-verbal casting until your sixth year, which is dependent on your O.W.L scores. I personally believe you should get a shot at better defending yourselves, despite how you may do in a test."

Snape leaned forward in his seat. Harry recalled the first lesson the man taught in his sixth year- nonverbal spells. Was this teacher the beginning of Snape's interest in the subject? 

"Naturally," the man leaned casually against his desk, "we can see the benefits of nonverbal casting. Anyone feel up to sharing?" Half the room raised their hands. Murtitle picked a girl with short, blonde hair and stood to walk over in front of her desk. She looked more nervous at that, but the man's face showed no animosity.

"People won't know what you're casting," she said. "And it's harder to counter then... unless you know loads of spells and their telltale trademarks. Some spells are very general though, and can be confused for others! And if the person or creature you're aiming for doesn't know you're even casting, that's a huge advantage."

"Guerrilla warfare," the Professor said approvingly. 

“And what,” the professor strode back up to the front of the class, “could be a _benefit_ to verbal casting?” Snape frowned from beside Harry, sinking back into his seat. Quite a few students in fact were exchanging looks of confusion. Only silence met the professor’s open question.

 _Oh_ , Harry thought. He raised his hand and watched the professor’s eyebrows raise.

“Yes, the new Mister Potter please.”

“Well, if you’re in a duel sir, then casting is a split second decision. Any sort of hesitation or overthinking could have you trussed up. So if you verbally cast it’ll directly affect your opponent’s concentration.” The professor leaned back against the desk, arms folded, with a faint smile playing on his lips.

“How so, Mister Potter? Walk us through, for the class.”

“If I’m casting a spell, loudly, my opponent with fixate on it- counter spells, shields- it gives me time to layer cast or provides enough hesitation and doubt that they’ll trip themselves up. As long as you're casting at an advanced enough level to warrant shield and counter variations, and your opponent as well.” The professor did smile at that. 

“The lesson here,” he said to the class, “Is that concentration is key. State of mind determines a duel- not necessarily brute force or power. You could have all the strength in the world, but an organised mind could walk right around your fortress and take you down. Got it? Got it. Let’s demonstrate. Stand up! Come all to the front of the classroom with your seating partner- and don't forget your wand!"”

Once all the Gryffindors and Slytherins were at the front of the room, the Professor silently sent all the desks flying to the walls. All the quills, books, and parchments didn't budge from atop them.

"Alright, remember your seating partner?" He asked, to a chorus of "yes" and "yessir" and "yeah's". 

"I want you to stand opposite them from the left to the right of the room. Clear? Move it!" Everyone was excitedly moving, except one boy who ran over to a desk to grab the wand he'd forgotten. He looked a bit familiar...

"Have you learned any good spells?" Snape asked across the empty meters in-between them.

"I think so," Harry said vaguely. "A few. I don't really remember using them with people- but I remember what to do."

"Brilliant," he grinned toothily. Harry thought he looked a little vicious. 

"Fantastic," the Professor said loudly. He likely used a light Sonorous charm to drown out the chatter. "I've cast temporary wards between duelling pairs- yes, we are duelling today, there is no better way to establish where you are in Defence. These wards will prevent your spells from interfering with your neighbours, but do little else. Start when ready!"

Snape immediately snapped his wand out of his sleeve and to attention, but Harry spoke first.

 _"Rictusempra,"_ Harry sliced the air, a jet of cool blue zipping forth. But Snape had jumped to the left and quickly cast,

_"Tarantallegra!"_

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_ He shot back after ducking, impressed by the speed. The other Slytherin was tensed and coiled to strike.

 _"Protego,"_ he summoned a silver shimmering shield that swallowed Harry's petrifying charm. _"Incarcarous! Deprimo!"_ He cast so fluidly that one movement bled into another, and Harry had to scramble back with a quick,

 _"Protego!"_ His own shield was a deep shade of purple, and swallowed both of the jinxes before he cast it away. _"Oppugno,"_ he said, with considerably more force behind it. He was not getting beat by Snape in a classroom- not again, at least.

 _"Impedimenta,"_ Snape repeated fervently as a sharp beaked cloud of small birds beat down on him, squawking. _"Impedimenta, impedimenta!"_ This drew the attention of a couple of the other duelling sets. One girl with mousy brown hair was gaping at the violent conjuration.

 _"Obscuro,"_ Harry twirled his wand before his opponent could free himself of the aerial attack. _"Locomotor Mortis!"_ But Snape let himself drop to the floor, landing on some of the fading bird conjurations with an odd cracking sound. He'd avoided the leg lock, and Harry shot out, _"Stupefy!"_ and still didn't manage his target, which rolled away and vanished the last three conjured birds.

 _"Stupefy!"_ Snape struck out in kind, Harry hadn't been fast enough, too content to watch his conjurations do their work.

 _Protego,_ Harry cast silently. He had not a second's time to do otherwise, the boy was too fast. _"Stupefy!"_ He cast again as the purple tinted shield faded. He had no idea how the others were doing, the duel was very involved, it was hard not to focus entirely on the slippery boy in front of him.

 _"Relashio!"_ Snape hissed, followed by, _"Expelliarmus!"_ Harry resisted the pull of the spell from experience, but let it wash over him.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_ Harry's aim was true, and Snape's wand was yanked mercilessly from his hand. The boy stumbled forward after it, as it soared in an arc. Stunningly, the wand fell down halfway over to Harry, and Snape caught it. Wandless magic? The man always had a trick up his sleeve.

 _"Langlock!"_ Snape cast while Harry was still processing.

 _"Protego!"_ He managed to spit out.

 _"Incendio!"_ The boy was becoming more fervent. He _really_ wanted to win.

 _"Impervius!"_ Harry remembered, as the shield charm would do little to normal fire.

 _"Magnus igne protego!"_ Snape cast. Harry didn't recognise the spell at all, as a fire too red to be natural erupted from the end of his wand.

 _"Protego!"_ Harry bellowed, thrusting his wand in a right-tick motion, nearly out of breath from a mock duel with a fourteen year old.

Snape was impressive.

Harry brought his wand down with a whip stroke, but the shield charm deflected this time instead of absorbing- and the jet of red flame shot at the beamed ceiling, setting to it with a crackle and hiss.

The magical fire was licking up the wood with incredible speed. Harry heard students gasp, drawn away from their own duels.

"Fire!" Came one hysterical shout.

"Exit calmly," the Professor announced with a lightly applied Sonorous Charm. He brandished his wand with what, in Harry's good opinion, seemed like a little dramatic flair, but an impressive shield of shimmering water caught and held flickering embers and burning wood above the sufficiently wowed teens. Very few were making good haste to exit, more content to watch the teacher do damage control.

Harry thought the Professor didn't particularly mind.

"This is why awareness of your surroundings in a duel is also paramount," he called out. "everything is a weapon for a wizard or witch! Even the ceiling!"

With another flick of his wand and a muttering, the fire was extinguished and the water soothed the ceiling in a gentle wave. "And when I instruct you to leave, you do it. I may have been able to handle anti-mag fire, but if the variation had been different than I calculated, quite a few of you would be seeing the hospital wing today."

A few nervous, apologetic laughs broke out at his reprimand.

"Well," Murtitle said. "That's quite nearly all the time we have for today. Why not head off now and make it to your next class on time?" Harry cast a quick Tempus, which showed a good twenty minutes until the next lesson. "Mister Snape and Mister Potter, excellent duelling for the most part- and that goes for the rest of you, excluding Mister Jenkins. Mister Jenkins that was a poor show of effort, if you wish to pass my class you will have to participate. I will be expecting twelve inches on the strengths and weaknesses of your individual duels, accounting for yourself and your duelling partner. Now, off with you!"

"See you Thursday," came a couple voices, followed by, "Bye Mister Murtitle!"

Harry trouped back to his desk where it had been pushed off to the side with the rest, sliding his unopened Defence book back into his satchel.

"I can show you a couple of the classrooms," Snape said suddenly at his ear, uncomfortably close. "Since we have time. Shan't be getting lost like a first year."

"Oh brilliant, I'll come!" Harry's eyes went wide at the thick mane of rich, red hair.

Lily Evans Potter-

his mum.

"This is Lily Evans," Snape explained, sounded even more guarded and tense as he violently spoke her name. Emphasis on Evans. "She's in Gryffindor."

"Alright," Harry gave easily, not sure what he was trying to get across. "Alright, sure, and um, nice to meet you."

"It might be nice to meet you too," she said vaguely. "If you're not like the other Potter."

Harry laughed a little shrilly and Snape gave him another piercing look. Surely he can't know Legilmency already? Felt like it, sometimes.

"Sev is my best friend," Lily continued proudly. "Glad you're getting on, speaks well of you." The aforementioned 'Sev' was a little pink on his gaunt cheekbones. Harry and him had shared maybe all of five sentences, and all due to Snape's inherent nosiness. 

"Right, yeah," Harry agreed convincingly as they made for the door. Lily didn't notice the strain at all as she dug about in her bag for something.

~^~

Lily had kept up a dialogue throughout the impromptu tour, that was surprisingly engaging instead of annoying. She carefully avoided talking about France or Harry's family, and constantly roped Snape, or rather 'Sev', into conversation.

It wasn't a very long tour, and they didn't get far, because they had Charms together shortly. Again it was Gryffindors and Slytherins.

They had gotten to the topic of James Potter outside the classroom door, where a small gaggle of Gryffindor girls were already waiting. Lily waved them off, gesturing to Sev and Harry, and mouthing 'one minute'.

"He plays for the Quidditch team," Snape explained. "A chaser now, but he was seeker since our second year. His house practically worships him because of a stupid sport, in case you're wondering where the inflated ego comes from. If you are a Potter, a proper one, I'd be shocked if you weren't a little rotten to the core, too." He said nastily. 

Harry didn't take it to heart but Lily actually defended Harry's hypothetical family (not so hypothetical). She seemed to like him so far, and didn't want to paint him with the James Potter brush. Harry rather suspected that Snape was being more genial because of Lily.

"Maybe he's got goodness, buried somewhere inside-" she amended at Sev's dark look, "-deep, deep down."

"Most people who go digging don't find gold, Lily," Snape warned, in a characteristically metaphoric manner. Lily glanced at the aforementioned chaser approaching the class as they headed in, and said no more before going over to a seat next to a curly haired girl.

"Is that actually a saying?" Harry asked.

"I made it up," Snape admitted. "I thought it sounded good."

"I've heard worse," Harry conceded.

"You know, that was a good duel," Snape offered.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah it was."

It could be an unconventional friendship between these two boys, but it was quite nearly one becoming one indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's a great duellist, but he's only seventeen, and Snape is a great duellist as well. Hell, he's into spell creation, and he's successful at it. This kid is advanced, even in his school days. Also, Harry's not going to decimate Snape in class on his first day... so if anyone feels like Harry should've been kicking ass and taking names in Defence, that's the explanation as to why it played out like this :)
> 
> Thanks for reading as always, and let me know what you think, etc etc, so I know what the impression is! And as usual my personally enforced rule is one comment- one hour of writing- 
> 
> Me seconds after upload, refreshing manically with my nose pressed to the screen: commenté?kudoé?


	10. A Curse Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter ten introduces 'part' of a character that will be very important, and some reviewers already mentioned it haha :)  
> Hope this chapter works well, I had trouble writing Sirius because he's very antagonistic but also, very conflicted about being so- he's very aimless :(

~^~

Settling into the castle was inordinately easy, even from the dungeons.

Severus Snape was providing to be a snarky, rude, but altogether fun tagalong. He seemed to melt out of the shadows wherever Harry was, offering solicitous advice and cutting barbs about every single student. Harry was warily getting accustomed to calling the boy by first name. It was still awkward and he kept expected a sharp reprimand when none came.

His first meeting with James, well his second technically, had gone well. But as all good things, it couldn't be expected to last. It had been nearly two weeks since class had begun, and James had yet to approach him about mailing his mother and Paterfamilias. Harry wasn't one thousand percent sure what a Paterfamilias was, until he was guided by a disgruntled Severus into the library.

"You don't know anything about anything," he said very matter-of-factly. "You _French_."

"That's racist," Harry said mildly. The boy frowned.

"You're white, Potter, and you should be reading this." He thrust a thick tome at him. "If you want to at least pretend like you know anything about anything."

Harry learned that Severus Snape was a frequent guest in the Hogwarts library, but he mostly was there to steal away large stacks of books into the dungeons, where he would peer over them in the green-blue glow of the common room. He found it more conducive to learning, but Harry thought that was just his flair for the dramatic.

He liked to learn in a theatrical setting with ambiance, Harry often said.

He also noticed that Snape didn't seem to spend time with anyone else, barring Lily. Sometimes people would come up to him, but it was usually just to bother him or ask him about schoolwork. 

The book was very boring, by the way, but it gave Harry more information on the structure of the wizarding hierarchy than he'd ever had before. There was a lot to know, and he naturally forgot most of it, but he knew what a Paterfamilias was now- it described the Head of a family name and they usually had great political power from hereditary seats.

When he finished his search in the tome, Snape took it as he said he'd like to review some more. Harry asked and _no_ , it was not for a class.

 _Snape,_ Harry considered from his bed the thin, tall frame of his roommate, _is a bit of a nerd._

~^~

"Snivelly," Sirius said, striding forward from a large group of his House. "Isn't it a little too bright out for a lake rat like you? Better scurrying off before you get burnt." Sirius' wand twirled around in his hand, a good enough implication on its own. A smattering of laughter was drawn from the crowd.

Snape had his own wand in hand instantly, eyes beady and looking for all possible exits. Behind Sirius was a boy with brown hair and a filled-out frame, that Harry had also seen trailing James and Remus in class. 

_It's probably Peter_ , he acknowledged. But this boy looked nothing like the grimy man he would become. In fact, he kind of looked like Neville more than anything, and terribly shy.

"Well? Nothing to say?" Snape merely gripped his wand tighter, and Harry began to realise that the boy must've had a lot of comebacks stored up in him until adulthood.

"Watch it, both of you, no duelling in the halls," Harry stepped forward. Sirius jerked his head to him with a surprising amount of disdain.

"Potter my ass," he sniped. "Parading around with the dredges of the dungeons... I could take both of you, what'da say Pete?" The nervous boy behind him gave a small yelp that didn't seem to mean anything, but Sirius took it as agreement.

"Do I know you?" Harry said bluntly, burying the feelings associated with the warm, blue eyes of his godfather. Sirius definitely didn't know him yet, so there was little warmth if any. But that also meant there shouldn't be so much _hostility_. For a _stranger_.

"Well you will, if you slink around with Snivelly," Sirius said. "But, he got the biggest laughs last year, I have to say. I'll give him that." More chitters from the gathering of students, but no one else intervened with the tense showdown.

"My name is my name, I don't know what else to say about that." He said. "And don't call him Snivelly, if you don't want an equally shit nickname."

"Excuse you," Sirius reared back. "I don't think you know exactly who you're dealing with- me or him-"

"I think you look like a bully."

"It's a two way street-"

"Who just walked up to start a fight?" Harry interrupted. "With half a class of backup? It wasn't us, I can say."

Sirius sputtered.

"I don't even know you, and you're made quite an impression."

"Clearly you have bad taste," he threw his wand hand to Snape, sparks sputtering out of the end. "Considering the company you keep!"

"How about this- if you think about how much of a prick you're being and accept it, come and talk to me then. There's no point in us standing here having a shouting match because you feel like yelling abuse at strangers!" Harry threw his hands up, hopelessly frustrated. "You're clearly just looking for a fight, but I'm not-- and I won't be giving you one." Harry turned to Snape who, on the other hand, was definitely ready to give a fight. "Let's go, Severus, it's a waste of time." He prayed the other would let it go, and to his surprise he did.

A flash of red hair was in Harry's peripheral and he admitted to himself that was likely why.

"Watch yourself, smart arse!" Sirius called after the two retreating Slytherins.

"So we've got Hogsmeade weekend," Severus said randomly, not turning around as he was clearly used to these altercations. "First one this year, and I suppose you've never been. You should like it, it's a brilliant 'mages only' settlement, not far from the castle."

As if attracted by the very mention of history, Lily had flounced up behind them, pushing past the gathered Gryffindors waiting for a fight that never came. "Oh it's really fun to get out of the castle for a bit, Harry, and you've got to try butterbeer. It's a Hogsmeade specialty!"

"You should definitely explore the Shrieking Shack," Snape added casually. "It's very safe."

"Sev," Lily snorted.

"If you come with," Harry countered. 

"I couldn't possibly, I've got to buy more parchments you see, and I've just got very little time..." He said hastily, but he clearly was playing along.

"Right, of course." Harry couldn't help the smile at the odd camaraderie of this unlikely threesome. 

Still, he missed Ron and Hermione. It's not as painful as it was in the summer, but the hole where his friends used to be was still gaping.

~^~

Hogsmeade was perpetually chilly, and as the second week of September came to a close it was already frosty. The walk up from where the carriages brought them was scenic and full of Lily's anecdotes about the most popular shops, and Severus' indulgent smiles solely for his first friend.

Lily bounced back and forth between the two Slytherins and her girlfriends from Gryffindor, who Harry still hadn't managed to tell apart. He should probably learn that, to be fair.

"Oh, Sev, could we all meet up after? Mary really wants to go to Puddifoot's and get Corvus some heartfelt treats, and I'm sure Harry wouldn't like it there anymore than you!" 

"We'll be at the Broomsticks, Lils." he said. "It's the most popular inn," he explained to Harry, who tried to look like this was very new information.

The girls absconded with great enthusiasm, and Harry and Severus fell into their usual interchanging silence and sniping remarks. The butterbeer was very frothy and pleasantly bubbly, he remarked, and tried to look as interested in the 'new' drink as possible. Madam Rosmerta was a red-cheeked eighteen year old, she was quick to tell them she had just graduated, and was very much enjoying her job. She was very talkative, and very attractive. Neither of the boys minded her eager conversation, though the other servers would roll their eyes at her.

She asked how Hogwarts was, and the Professors, and bemoaned about Professor Kuttlege with them. She too had had the woman as a Charms Professor. As they drank in companionable chatter, Harry's mind began to wander as it oft did.

Not more than a day had passed without Sirius approaching him. All Harry saw of him were glimpses of whenever he left mealtimes and class. It didn’t seem that he was ignoring Harry, though. Rather, he seemed to be deep in thought and constantly preoccupied with something. Was he, perhaps, re-evaluating his assholery?

It was on that Hogsmeade's Saturday trip that Severus called him out on his pining, with his ever astute eye. But to be fair, Harry's moping since the fight yesterday had been obvious... and he had complained about Sirius' behaviour no less than four times before curfew.

”Don’t get your hopes up,” Snape said, swiping his curtain of hair out of his eyes casually. ”Remember who he is! Black is nothing but a series of disappointments. Even his family doesn’t want him.”

”That... is complicated,” Harry replied, unsure of how to defend his asshat of a future godfather. If he even wanted to. ”You’re taking things out of context. Why do you keep here with me for, anyway? Lily can't have meant for you to be stuck with me the whole trip- if you need to buy stuff I don't want to trap you here.”

”I'm here to offer you guidance and wisdom,” Snape replied instantly. ”Neither of which you’re willing to accept into your life, so stuck we are, irrevocably.”

”Did Lily _really_ expect me to learn wisdom and guidance from you?” Harry asked, deeply sceptical about these claims. It was also uncomfortably close to something _his_ Snape would have said. ”None of that has been forthcoming from your corner, anyway.”

”I greatly resent your attitude, Potter,” he said. ”Besides- oh ho, look who’s coming over. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, hair combed to slick perfection as always.”

“Harry,” came the stilted voice. “And Sni- _Snape_ ,” he greeted more tersely.

“My cue,” Snape said drily, sliding in a very smug fashion out of the booth. “If you need me, Potter, I’m a curse away.”

“A curse away is two curses too close,” Sirius bit out, seeming unable to help himself. Snape only offered a flirtatious wiggling of his fingers before disappearing into the throng of Inn patrons.

"I was an arse," Sirius said bluntly once the other Slytherin had vanished.

"I was there, I saw that," Harry added agreeably. "But I don't want to be fighting with you for nothing, yeah?"

"That's what James said."

"James has a point."

"Snape is a turd on a good day," Sirius warned. "But I haven't got a reason to pick at you. It'd be like if we picked at Lily for being friends with him." He made a face of disgust. "So are we good, then?"

"I suppose so. But you still shouldn't get at Snape just because he's a bit different than you," Harry argued.

"You have no idea." Sirius shook his head. "Whatever, I'm meeting Remy. See you around, or not, Potter."

Harry took in the inn from his seat, and contemplated getting another butterbeer before Snape reappeared in that silent fashion of his.

"So?" He prompted.

"He apologised, admitted he was being a git for no reason. How was your stalking of Rosmerta?"

"Rosmerta didn't mind," but the teen flushed a little. "She likes to talk. So Black actually said sorry?"

"Yeah, well, he said he was an arse." Harry squinted at Snape, who started to do something very odd in the booth opposite him.

“What’s… what’s happening to your face?”

“Smiling. A result of enjoyment, I believe.”

“Wow that doesn’t suit you.” Severus scowled instantly, looking murderous as he ordinarily did. “Oh that’s much better. I mean before you looked downright _alien_.”

“Alright,” he growled.

~^~

They had not ended up going to the Shrieking Shack, which was fine. To Harry's complete pleasure, Lily dragged Severus to the Quidditch Pitch after heading back to the castle. She claimed it was 'Potter-free' before giving Harry a quick look. 

In fact, the Slytherin team was playing some pick me up rounds, and a few others were swooping about freely on the Quidditch field. Lily liked to fly, Harry learned. He'd never known that about his mother.

Rather like Hermione, Severus preferred to place himself in the stands with a good book, which was fine he said. He could wait.

The school brooms were in much better shape than Harry's time, and he was happy to have access to a broom at all. With his school allowance he doubted he could buy himself a broomstick.

Harry ignored the others on the pitch making lazy circles or hitting Bludgers, and flew up to towards a raincloud drifting in the evening sky. It was cold, and the air pressed wetly against his cheeks. But it was worth it, for the silence. He flew up higher, holding on with everything he could, going higher and higher into the night sky until the air was thin and he was dizzy from it.

 _Harry, you’re too high. Get back, go down._ His mind urged him in a manner it had never done before.

But Harry ignored it, waving only to Lily some metres below.

Suddenly he stopped, once he was high enough in the sky- now purple and veined with silver, glimmering stars. He was above the clouds now, it felt like. The air was clear, crisp, and he was free.

He channeled his utter bliss at the sky and the night and the very act of flying, made it into a cloak that he placed over his newfound queasiness, enfolding himself. It may as well have been sunrise then, with the way the night lit up, all in Harry’s mind.

It seemed to him, embraced by sky, that he’d never be trapped in darkness again ( _the cupboard)._

Harry swooped down into a dizzying dive, flat against the school broomstick.

As he picked up speed and ground grew closer, that awful seed of unhappiness wormed in again. Against his own will he moved jerkily and his reactions were delayed. He did not move fast enough when a Bludger shot past him, slamming his arm into his side with an awful thud.

He had to ground himself, and Ed Murk, a Slytherin chaser, swooped down on him.

"You'll need bruise ointment," he said. "Lucky you didn't break anything. You haven't. right?"

"Don't think so," Harry said.

“What’s wrong with you?” The boy asked with complete bluntness. "That was a mean bit of flying, but you got weird at the end." He was kind and well-meant, and made Harry almost shake with frustration at the way his mind was sluggish and body unwilling.

“I’m all right,” he replied, knowing even as he said it that Ed wouldn’t buy for an instant. _He_ didn't even buy it, he had no clue what was happening. “Really. I’m just tired suddenly.”

Ed’s brow creased with concern. “All right, Harry. If you say so. But rest up, would you? We don’t want you falling off your broom or anything when it comes to tryouts.”

Harry had to grin at that. Ed already expected him to try for the team.

"Hey, grab a sleeping draught from the infirmary when you get that bruise ointment," Murk suggested. "If you're feeling off, or homesick, a good night's rest can solve almost anything."

~^~

The sleeping draught didn't take immediate effect. Instead Harry was drawn into a well of abandonment, feeling tired and alone as he laid down and his eyes drooped.

He tried to shrug off the feeling- after all he had had a good day, and a wonderful flight until the Bludger accident- but something fought back, dragging that nervousness and sense of abandonment to the forefront even as sleep snuck over his senses.

"Stop it," he mumbled into his pillow. A sharp rebuttal from that odd pit in his chest slapped back and Harry's eyes went wide open, the urge to sleep retreating momentarily. "What the- what potion- ?" He rubbed his head, which was started to hurt from the conflicting feelings inside, battling it out.

He tried again to think of flying to clear his mind and bring his back to his happy place, but even more unhappiness swelled. The feelings, he started to realise, were not at all his.

_Just like on the carriage to Hogwarts._

But there was no one here to Legilimise him in the quiet dormitory. And he thought again of the circumstance that brought him here, how it haunted him again and again, the old man and the crying, shivering soul under the bench.

When was the last time Harry had felt a presence so clearly in his own head, legilmency notwithstanding? 

_Riddle,_ he fought to acknowledge against the potion overtaking his wakefulness. _The Horcrux- I never let go of it. Is it- ? No, no, it can't be!_

He must have been affronted by Harry's frustration with him, because Riddle's displeasure suddenly vanished, and Harry knew then, intimately, of Tom’s fear. He was transported back to another time on the Hogwarts Quidditch field, but this time he was no longer Harry Potter. He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, an orphan mudblood, and Kolpun Rosier was pointing at him, jeering:“ -the mudblood can’t even get the broom to turn over!”

Tom was ashamed, his eyes felt like fire. “Up!” he quite nearly yelled, full of blistering rage. “Up!” But it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t. He was left standing on the muddy grass, Malfoy and his cronies lifted up into the air, flying, leaving him behind. All alone again.

"Oh," Harry whispered under his slowing breath, still filled with the hot shame of the memory.

The uncomfortable feeling guided him into an uneasy sleep, finally. He would wake up into a panic as he realised what had occurred, as he recalled the vivid emotion in the memory that should not have been his.

The Horcrux he had once had, after all, never quite did that before.

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for dropping in xx, ask questions, bully me gently, tell me what you're taking away from the storyline :)
> 
> The next chapter is some character writing, to give us some perspective, and I hope y'all don't hate it too much! I won't do that often, if at all, but sometimes it's good to see things through different eyes. Chapter 12 brings us to everyone's favourite wizard-with-a-personality-disorder, which is perfectly acceptable even if his actions aren't always. Welcoming Lord Voldemort to the stage! *and he steps up with a great flourish and smile- because he loves an audience*


	11. Sirius Black and the Vagabond Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude to another perspective, but not a long draw away from the story. I just want to give all the characters life for Harry's main plot line! Again, like the said in the previous notes, I hope you don't totally hate it, but I feel some change of perspective gives more life to the characters :) and like I also mentioned, I won't be doing this sort of switch of place very often, just sometimes for insight. The only consist point of views that will be interchanging are Harry's and Tom's.

~^~

Sirius Black had a terrible summer, which was quickly becoming the new normal. He had been quick to escape to Diagon or Wimsik with James, Remus, and Peter when he could make it from Durham.

When he wasn't gallivanting about with his motley crew and sneaking out to muggle record stores, he was penning angry letters to those same friends.

It was sweet, sweet relief to head to the train station unaccompanied by his parents. They had left earlier with Regulus, and Peter was waiting at the gate when he and James strolled up. Hogwarts wasn't just his home away from home, most of the time it felt like his actual home, the place he wanted to be.

~^~

"I can barely see anything," Peter said. "No, actually-- guys you never listen--" Sirius nearly groaned. Pete's cute running gag seemingly would not be contained to their summer.

"Pete, you need to see a Healer if you're serious about this, alright? James, lend him your glasses anyways."

"Har har, Sirius," James shot back, but the gangly boy was already removing his spectacles. "Did we really not catch Remus yet? Nearly eleven." The muggles were racing past the huddled group, wholly focused on their little worlds. It was dirty, bustling, bright, loud, colorful, and utterly foreign. Sirius thought they all smelled rather odd, and strongly, but the clothes were as creative as Headmaster Dumbledore. He'd beg off McKinnon to get him some of their trousers next holidays, he thought. Give mother a conniption fit. "Did you say how you fucked your eyes, mate?"

"Loads if you listened," Pete said, squinting from behind James' round frames. "So piss off about it."

"If it's not genetic," James said loudly, "-which it's not, we know-" He laughed as Peter thrust a fist into his lower ribs, but looked proper off kilter so Sirius reckoned that hurt.

"Fucker," he muttered. Sirius' attention was drawn away again by a muggle in extremely flattering pants that swooped out at the bottom that was walking straight towards them, long hair moving in an invisible breeze. He caught her eye and she gave him a wink-

what.

Oh Merlin and Morgana, he thought desperately, she's perfect. And she was looking straight at him, young as he was- but, you know, handsome if he did say so himself-

"Stop drooling over my sister, you animal." Peter let out a breathy laugh to that, and stood from his lean against the stone pillar. So did Sirius. The rough hewn rock was starting to dig into his back in a most awful way. But he looked cool propped up on the pillar so he bore it all that wait. It seemed that Remus had become even more elongated than last year, maybe even more stretchy than James but he certainly looked more awkward about it. His freckles stood out starkly from his drawn, paper-pale face even though summer had just come to a draw. Hell, even his freckles were pale. Sirius offered him a nonapologetic grin, and a hopeful look at miss tight pants.

"Have fun at school Remmy," the goddess spoke, "pen me anytime. I'll get it through to Mum." With a kiss on the cheek, she was vanishing into the ocean of a crowd.

"Your sister's fit," James said. Remus only coughed in response, catching it in his fist. He scratched the back of his neck with a soulful look. Sirius thought that, really, Remus was always so bereft of expression. But at least his face was as cute as his sister's.

"Weren't sated with Isola?" He asked Sirius.

"Oh please," he said, falling into step with the lean boy. "I've got greater goals this year."

"My poor sister," he said mildly. "I'm afraid she may be too stuck in the mud for you. And a bit too old."

"Not like I'm giving her children," he smiled wickedly. "But I can try a few times. No shame in that." Remus smiled back discomforted, but quick to answer.

"I'll let your old man know then," to which Sirius made his face screw up in horror. "You purebloods are so scandalous."

Peter snickered. "He's been penning McGonagall."

"Orion Black?" Remus said, disbelievingly.

"Lovesick," James chortled along. Peter reached to smack his head playfully and they scuffled. James managed to hook an elbow round Pete's neck and promptly Peter fell flat. Or, well, pretended to choke out.

"It had Potter written all over it," Sirius complained. He did not like how this conversation was going for him. "Daft woman, honest. My summer's been a nightmare Jamie, so cheers."

"Thanks for waiting, by the way," Remus said to the lot of them, as they stopped at the gateway. "Traffic was dreadful."

Armed with four trolleys of trunks, four terribly ordinary looking boys of fourteen disappeared smack dab in the middle of King's Cross, four minutes to eleven o'clock. Not a Muggle the wiser.

Well, technically Remus was thirteen for another three days.

~^~

The carriage ride was uneventful, besides the newest Thestral revelation from Crispin Fancourt. These were becoming customary however, so the scream wasn't all too disturbing. But, it did silence the chatter, and everyone got into their respective carriages in uncomfortable fashion... as the 5th year boy remained clutching his eyes from his kneeling position on the ground. Those closest could perhaps hear his dry sobs.

If anyone else was disturbed by the death omens, if it was new to them, they managed to swiftly escape notice with Fancourt making such a fuss.

"Dear me," Peter said with chocolate frog in hand, "it's like they haven't been told what's coming. Cannot believe he's a Gryffindor. Won't hear the end of this from the Gobstones club. He's making us a riot the first day back."

"And," James added. "to think, he wanted to make Prefect. Imagine if Cornfoot pulled that."

"Good heavens," Remus mumbled. "Oh, Steven's made Prefect then? Wotcher that." Sirius did wonder who it was that Fancourt saw die. Their families ran in somewhat similiar circles, he thought. Didn't they? He never did pay much attention to the happenings of Black house. It was his father's duty as the Heir before him, and would remain so for long to come. Grandfather Alphard was young by standard, and healthy as a Hippogriff.

It must've been gruesome, he considered. Or something like that. Not many would react like that, he knew. The rebellion had touched many families, but it was seldom true wizarding blood was shed. Sirius knew of some Light wizards that were killed by the rebellion, but not too personally. He thought that James might, what with his family being disgraced and Light. Sirius wondered if Fancourt had any family in the Auror services- those died too, trying to stop the rebellion.

Sirius was also morbidly curious as to what the Thestrals looked like, and he knew what that would take. He would need to witness a death, like the growing number of other Hogwarts students. It was an itchy feeling, like he knew less than those who had seen battle, like they were hoarding some great secret.

None of the occupants of this carriage would care for Crispin's pain. Or read the obituaries in the Daily Prophet to see six Fancourts names in a row, young and old.

~^~

The Sorting was nearly half an hour of cheering and singing, everyone was understandable hungry after, except Peter. Peter had quite a few chocolate frogs on the train and even in the carriage, and Sirius thought he was looking a bit chubby cheeked generally.

The only actually interesting bit was that transfer student with the memory mishap, and Sirius was disappointed to see him go to Slytherin.

"Pass the bread," James said irritably. The redhead girl only continued to butter her bun with laser like focus. James was getting upset, but Sirius let him deal with her. "Lils and Snivellus, maybe the baby would come out halfway human with your looks," he said loudly. This got the girl's attention, and a flush as red as her hair crept up her neck. "But I'd reckon the hook nose is inescapable, what'd you say Remus?"

"I'd say the dead fish eyes would be more concerning, James." Remus bounced back with a straight face. Now, Sirius could practically see steam coming out Evans' ears. He chewed a tough bit of pork chop, and watched the dinner show.

"Oh shove off you rat-faced mole!" She snarled. "Walk around like you own the place, y-you-" Her anger seemed to leave her at a loss for words. "You little brat! You little rich boy brat! Ugh!"

"Do excuse me, for being a wizard of standing," he started, calm now that he had control of the conversation, that he had managed to draw her in. "Some may think you should pay a little more respect to your betters!"

"Betters?" Lily clenched her hands on the table's edge. "Excuse me for not being a pompous arse that thinks money makes me better than everyone else!"

"Maybe he wasn't talking about money, mudblood," Someone called from down the table. This broke out a wave of chittering laughter down the table. Only some of Lily's girlfriends sat there looking mutinous.

"Oi," James rebutted, looking a bit uncomfortable. Sirius knew his family was one of those forward pureblood lines. His mother would call them traitors, naturally, which to proper wizards they were. "That's not something their lot can control. But you can choose the right company and what can I say Lils, you chose wrong. Now-" He whipped out his wand. "I wanted the bread." With a flick the basket flew into his fingers, deftly grasped like a Snitch.

"No magic at the table," drawled Fancourt.

"You're not a Prefect, nimwit," James shot back. He never liked condescending people. Or really any opposition, and Sirius fancied that about him. "Don't need to be a buzzkill five minutes in, mind your own and so go shit about death or something like." Fancourt turned quickly to his mate Cattertik, probably embarrassed is what Sirius thought. James went on to generously apply the salted butter to his baguette slice, supremely concentrated. It wasn't until he looked up that he saw the disapproving Peter. James shrugged.

"Harsh?"

"Bit yeah," Peter said quietly. "Fancourt's hardly the only one that's screamed before." James bit into his bread.

"Yeah," he said through a mouthful. He then adopted a thoughtful expression. "But I wouldn't. And come on, you'd have to admit he was giving us all a bit of a show."

"Arsehole."

"What was that McKinnon?"

"You heard me just fine, Black," she said. "Your friends. Are arseholes." Sirius put on a very affronted look as he swallowed his pork chop.

"For wanting bread?" The very pretty girl looked up to the false sky above as if she were saying a prayer. So he slid out of his seat and walked around James. Grasping Lily Evans by the shoulder he said,

"Let me slide in, Lils." And she stiffly inched toward James to allow him a place. "Now, Mar, you wound me!" He smacked his hand to his chest with earnest eyes, blue and big. She wouldn't even look at him. He dramatically sighed and threw both arms out around the two fourth year girls. "Fancourt's made Peter a problem, see," he said.

"Oh," McKinnon looked at him, "Really now?" Sirius nodded sagely and looked to Evans for support- but she was still nervously (and with disgust) glancing to his best friend. James was enthusiastically stabbing his carrots unaware. He gave her a shake from his hold on her shoulders. Lily only just sat up straight and shared a woman's look with McKinnon, but with attention fully on him Sirius went ahead.

"Yes," Sirius said emphatically. "He's made us to look fools in Gobstones now." He closed his eyes in mock heartfelt sadness. "Gryffindor crybabies! Poor Pete will be pummeled by merciless Ravenclaws! Though," he cracked his left eye open, "maybe he'd like that." McKinnon made a trill of disgust and threw his arm off.

"Get fucked," Pete mouthed through his savory chicken breast. "Fucking animal." Remus added his two cents.

"You probably would like that, Pete." And he got a shove to the side that didn't even budge him a centimeter, and continued serenely mushing his potato.

Sirius pulled Lily in real close with a fluid motion, after McKinnon's cold shoulder. She was being a real bitch for the first day back, and for absolutely no reason. He sighed again, and put his head on Evans'.

"Just you and me now, babes," but she smacked him away too, beet red as ever, and accidentally backed up into James which made her jump up in fear. Sirius barked out a loud laugh and James met his eyes with a grin.

~^~

**One Day Later: the Second of September, Nineteen Seventy Four**

"Not much this weekend," Peter stated through a yawn. They had stayed up late into the night with the upper years, and only due to Remus' absurd timekeeping had managed to make the last half hour of breakfast. "But certainly we could get a pick-me-up Quidditch game started. The season's not on for another month."

"Excellent," James said.

Remus rubbed his temples. "It's not even the first week, and you're planning your weekend on a Monday. Maybe class prep would be a better use of your time."

"Ease up, Moony," he said. "Eat your biscuits, good boy." Sirius got a nonsubtle kick for that. "Ugh," he added. "McGonagall is eyeing me, not in the good way." James laughed.

"She really thought it was all you then." Sirius scowled.

"My father was not too pleased, so naturally I was proud to take credit. Didn't know she would make such a fuss. Got me on watch, or what." James sympathetically grabbed his shoulder and gave it a shake.

"I would fess up-"

"-but a Marauder never fesses!" Pete finished. Sirius snatched more potatoes, as McGonagall watched from the High Table.

"When's first Hogsmeade?" Sirius asked.

"Two weeks," Remus said. "Though if you pull off something like last May, I think McGonagall may do everything in her power to make sure you never see Hogsmeade again, mate."

A bell chimed through the Great Hall, clear as crystal.

"Class in thirty," Pete said, stuffing a forkful of bacon into his mouth while throwing on his robe. "Come on, we need to get our books now that we know our schedules."

"But my breakfast," James complained. Sirius grinned at Remus, who definitely brought his books. The boy sighed, knowing Sirius would be taking his tomes for class today.

"See you there," Sirius said, leaving Pete to drag Jamie from the table and his cold eggs as he made away with Remus.

~^~

Sirius was quick to leave Defence after getting his arse kicked by that wisp, Wimbleton. It was humiliating and rage inducing as he was so impressed by Snape's own duel with the new Slytherin fourth year. The one James might be related to.

He lurked by the next class' doorway, stewing in his anger at his own inadequacy.

When the Charms class finally let out, it was a bubbly stream of younger students, probably first years because his brother was a second year and he didn't recognize any of his classmates. They looked so excited, and Sirius wondered if their first lesson was Levitation as well.

Sirius went right for a good seat at the window, too moody to make small talk with the others coming in with him, even though some of them were really cute. That Sayre kid was petite, in a really charming way...

Unbidden the memory of his first kiss swam to mind. He did _not_ have the frame of mind to deal with that right now. How would James and Peter think of this new development to their friend group? 

But it wasn't long until all the Gryffindors from Defence filed in. Of all the people to sit down next to him, it was Lily Evans.

"Hey," she prodded.

Sirius ignored her.

"Hello," she tried again.

More ignoring. If she bloody well asked him if he was fine then he would skiv off Charms. None of her damn business.

The Marauders came in last, Peter smiling at Sirius apologetically and quizzically, taking their seats across the room. Sirius shrugged. He was a fatal charm to women it seemed, even annoying redheads who had never spoken to him as far as he could remember. James made a kissy face at him, and Sirius blew one right back. Jamie clutched his heart dramatically and collapsed in his chair. William Sayre rolled his eyes at them both so Sirius sent him a kiss too. That shut him up.

"Good morning, students. Well perhaps not for you, but bad karma has put you in my Monday lessons." Kuttlege greeted. The woman was stout and grim looking, with a hairdo so tight wound it must be a migraine in the works. "Last semester we had finished off with freezing charms, liquid and solid based, and other water related wandwork. This year we will begin on the other side, earth charms. Charms that control or manipulate earth, and hopefully you'll learn some helpful tricks for gardening however," Kuttlege warned sharply with an eagle eye, "I wouldn't try these spells in Herbology. Professor Bates isn't fond of, what he calls, petty interference."

She quickly produced three boxes that began to fly dizzyingly around the room. When they came to rest on the front desk, she instructed each student to remove an item from each box- just one. Sirius peered into the box with trepidation, and picked a rock out of a similiarly looking pile. The next box had him retrieve a vial of what looked like sand, and the final box left him with a wilted, scruffy plant. It was pitiful really.

Soon with all piled on his desk, Sirius wondered what exactly he was going to do with this. Kuttlege launched into her classic, minimalist sort of lecture describing a charm to turn rocky soil to fertile earth, change rock formation, and restore health to half-dead plants like the one drooping on his desk corner at this exact moment. Interjecting her instructions were plenty of uncomfortable remarks, including;

"Partners, get together! Before my eggs shrivel up!" Exclaimed Kuttlege. Sirius side eyed his local Lily Evans who was as red as her hair. The Marauders had enveloped a rather grumpy looking William Sayre and were all paired up.

"Without a partner?" Said a voice coming from Sirius' left ear. He looked over to see Kuttlege smiling unkindly.

"I'm fine, Professor, really, working alone," Sirius interjected smoothly. "Wouldn't want to be a burden."

"Nonsense. Miss Evans," argued the Professor. "Would you mind terribly?"

"Oh, not at all," said Evans with a small smile. "Not at all, Professor." It took all of Sirius' self control not to bang his head into the table. Stuck with a pretentious girl, with her suddenly hostile hot friend glaring daggers from behind them. McKinnon was really a raging bitch since the year had started, maybe it was her time of the month. Sirius had no idea what had made his chill, hot friend so opposed to fun.

"So, let's try and give this thing some life first," Sirius said. "Vertrius!" A pale blue light shot out and when it faded the stem seemed to be a vibrant green but no other visible effect. He cleared his throat.

"Together then?" Evans gave a nod, her wand ready.

 _"Vertrius!"_ Sirius craned his neck upwards.

"That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?"

"Mister Black!" Said the voice at his elbow. Kuttlege was back. "Terribly cast work, and not the purpose of this exercise. I suppose that Professor Bates wouldn't have trouble finding it a home on the grounds, but that man could find a home where the sun don't shine." The flower was swaying gently, brushing its petals across the vaulted ceiling.

"Well, it wasn't right, but it could've been worse?" Sirius said scratching his head.

"Perhaps you could direct Mr. Black to more control, Miss Evans, since he seems so empty minded?" She smiled at the Professor.

'Oi!" Sirius protested. "She helped! Likely why it got so screwed!" Kuttlege merely raised an eyebrow before levitating the giant flower away to the front of the classroom. Sirius huffed. Once the woman's back was turned, Evans turned on him with a steely glint of determination.

"Why don't we try, the um, rock formations," Sirius said.

 _"Eurthasis,"_ McKinnon shot at his innocent rock, which was now flat as a disk. "Wouldn't want you to ruin it, sorry." He scowled.

"Here, more of a flick at the end," and Lily turned hers into a standing doughnut hole. "And don't think I'm alright with you just because we're working together. You need to stop going after Sev."

"Look, it's a two way street with that nosy prick." Sirius whipped his wand to McKinnon's abandoned rock and muttered, _"Euthasis._ " It managed to explode into fine gray powder, which cropdusted the nearest tables. Isola coughed, sending even more dust flying. McKinnon was trying furiously to rub it out of her eyes.

"Sorry," Sirius called, and Isola smiled back. Lily, however, seemed ready to jump right back onto the Snape topic. McKinnon's partner, a mousy boy, saved Sirius from his impromptu interrogation.

"I believe the concept of a partner," he said nasally, "is that you work with them. Not a class project, Mary." McKinnon slid backwards to her seat and snarled at him, which wasn't nearly as intimidating with her squinting so severely in a sooty face.

"It's Marlene, numbskull. Mind your own damn business." The Slytherin boy looked unimpressed, and Sirius realised that McKinnon's new shit attitude didn't seem to circle around him. Odd.

"Mr. Black," said a voice at his ear once more. Sirius looked while shaking out dust from his hair. Kuttlege again. "Perhaps, for today, you should simply observe your partner's work. And be ready for detention at 8 o'clock tonight."

Sirius looked at Lily, who was nearly a normal color again. She had nice skin when she wasn't an alarming shade of red. He nodded to the Professor, who cast a small cleaning charm for Sirius and his victims.

"I don't get it," she said as the woman went away again. "It's not anything personal- you can't treat someone so poorly."

"Sometimes," he said, "you have to earn respect. And Snivellus doesn't deserve respect from me." His hands clenched again. "I'm not doing him any favours just because."

"I think," she said, wand raised. "You've just taken it all rather personally. You're making things difficult only for yourselves!"

"Not your business," he ground out. McKinnon was superstitiously leaning forward again in increments. Lily was quiet a moment.

"Well, I hope it works out fine for you, then. But I think it's alright for Sev to fight back if you think it's alright to as well, after all, it's a-- what did you call it? A two way street?"

When the bell finally rang, he was relieved to rejoin James in the hall, escaping his unexpected class partner and semi-friend turned enemy. McKinnon the... frenemy?

"Lady killer," Pete greeted warmly. Sirius grinned but spoke lowly to Jamie.

"You're so right, mate. She's rough." James gave him a playful shove.

"Am I ever wrong?" His hand went back to his hair, and Sirius smiled.

"Never."

"She's a right waste of a woman," James declared. "From the get go, her and Snivels are a right pair, aren't they?" Sirius shifted from foot to foot, a little guiltily.

"I reckon she's not that bad, who deserves Snivelly," he said.

"What you on about?" Pete said, a step behind.

"Lily," said Sirius.

"Evans," said James simultaneously.

"We've got Potions, wonderboys," Remus overtook them with long legs. "Let's not be late to the dungeons."

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too bad, and as you may have been able to tell, it was from Sirius' point of view! I took care not to involve scenes we've already seen from Harry's chapters, but instead built Sirius up from the other bits. I only alluded to Harry and Snape, Snape more so because he's naturally more relevant to Sirius at this time.
> 
> Let me know what you think, what you took away from the chapter, how you feel about it :) One review is an hour writing xx
> 
> Again, next chapter is onto Riddle's machinations


	12. Voldemort or Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favourite bby is back in this chappie :))

**September 16th, 1974**

"His hair's the same," Rowle noted aloud. Abraxas offered a small hum, but nothing more.

The old gang and then some were gathered at the Mather abode, a respectably modernised place with excessive amounts of glass paneling. Gurus Mather himself assured them of the precautions taken with the wards and stated the glass was coated in protective runes, but either way the exposure gave the illusion of bareness to the elements and attacks.

Gurus insisted he loved the sunlight more than fortifying walls of an olde home and Abraxas thought it unsettling, and even more so _unbecoming_ , that the man would value catching some faint sunshine over the safety of his life.

He had also heard this glass concept was a muggle-style that Gurus had implemented, and while they may indeed make some fun little contraptions, adopting their manner of home felt a little far fetched to Abraxas.

But muggle architecture was not what brought them here this Sunday.

~^~

He was seldom displeased, Tom considered as he surveyed the milling room's occupants. It was even more seldom he was pleased.

As it was, Tom could only ever remember operating in extremes; euphoria was like drowning, world-ending was his rage, loneliness was agony, jealousy was blinding, disgust was reviling, fear was reactionary, sadness was... familiar.

But people spoke in emotions, he knew, and usually referred to the lesser ones of Lord Voldemort's extreme categories. They spoke of dislikes, bores, wants, and being displeased-- all with an unaffected air, like it was speaking of the weather.

He did not see the world as they did, did not feel it the same, and the ache that brought had lessened over the years but never gone away.

The saying is you cannot miss something you never had, but that is wrong. Lord Voldemort had spent many a day, week, month, and years longing to think quite ordinarily. He wanted _everything_ , as was his nature, but the one thing that he didn't have- the _lack of_ that made him who he was- would always allude him.

He would never feel like other people did.

It was almost physical, surrounding him and shielding him from all those people out in the world he wanted to be like. 

Tom Riddle had not found his place, and Lord Voldemort gave into his baser desires to seek that belonging that evaded him. He surrounded himself with the dredges of society instead of the intellectuals; the ones without a place, just like he felt tone himself. But swimming in depravity, he felt no more part of something.

They too, were not like him. And both Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort had grown tired of pushing at the threads of society trying to find a place where he felt the _right things_ in the _right amount_ just the _right way_.

Today he stood among a contrasting mix of hellions and upper echelon in a glass house that he thought was amusingly symbolic.

 _A glasshouse_ , he considered, _represents abundance of flatteries and compliments to a person, on the subject of a behaviour that is transparent and damaging. It possesses a negative symbolism, with the possibility of rectification. Likewise, glass objects are present when it is omened the realisation of a complex task or delicate project will dawn._

He'd always liked Divination; as Tom Riddle or Voldemort or just a man-without-an-appropriate-name. 

Abraxas Malfoy was watching him as if nothing had changed from their Hogwarts days, and he was aware now what an oversight it was to forget one he had entrusted with the ramblings of an insecure, displaced schoolboy. It could've cost him years of work he'd done amassing these people, who would be enlightened by his presence.

And exerting his power, having rightful appreciation of his studies not overshadowed by something as mind-numbingly droll as blood-- he could've lost this tenuous comfort he was finding in this lifestyle. Simply because of Abraxas and his oversight.

No matter, for even in his riddled youth (ha!), he was a solid decision maker. Abraxas had made a good confidant through all the years, once Tom had managed to push himself above the other boy. 

And all had played out for the better.

They were certainly not boys anymore, and like he always was going to, Tom had surpassed every individual in this room. And they just _didn't understand_. He feels still that glass partition between himself and the world.

"Gentlemen and present ladies," he murmured with compulsion, another trick he thought fondly of from his schooldays. The glass room lost its slight liveliness, and the curious eyes of many a familiar face turned to the man at the centre of it all.

He even allowed some small conversation to find their own ends, feeling singularly at peace. He had been feeling... _generous_... all summer, really. He attributed the unusual clarity to the culmination of his plans, and his rightful seize of power.

His mind had been _so_ clear since late this May, and he was emboldened by the quietening of his mind. He had considered upping the ante with the muggle attacks, but that had only been a thought borne of his restlessness. He'd cast that aside now, to proceed with his plans more insidiously.

"If we cannot change the world, we must change ourselves. Wizardkind is a solitary species that is _limiting_ itself. We are gathered here to _erase_ those limits."

"Hear, hear!" Came the crowd, though some only joined in with hesitance.

Lord Voldemort noted which.

~^~

**It was no magnanimous twist of fate, no mysterious trick of Death that brought him here-- that did the near impossible-- it was, _like always_ , Tom Riddle desperately clinging to life, with the tenacity of toy-robbed toddler, that brought Harry beyond his limits.**

It was not a dreamless sleep that came, and Harry found himself wishing he had taken a different sort of draught.

He came to in a place that was shifting like a grey mass all around him, and all he could see was the blurry outline of a man.

He stepped closer, but already knew who he would find.

"Why are you here?" Harry croaked.

"We were destined," Tom said with his eyes shining. 

"Because you made me your destiny!" Harry shouted, tapering off at the end with a loss of purpose. "All you ever had to do was let yourself _feel_ something, you know? Let it in. You chose to be like this instead, because maybe it was easier."

"I don't even know what _this_ is," Riddle said in that same even, but lacking tone. "It's just-- I've tried-- this is how I am, Harry. It's harder for me for most things, let alone the big ones like... oh I don't know. Compassion?" His nose flared with frustration. "I can barely even think of examples, and I've lived in your emotion-rich head for seventeen years. I could barely decipher half of it besides in a studied, clinical manner. I can trace cause and effect and catalogue it, but not relate to it myself. I deal in extremes that have no place in day-to-day life. My day-to-day would likely be very dull in comparison to yours, all emotional output considered."

He tilted his head. "Not to say I haven't seen your emotions in others, exploited them, read about them, mimicked them... but let them in? Never, Harry. There is no door to open for that." He smiled a tad ruefully. "I was built all walls, it seems. And I, Voldemort- or Tom Riddle as you seem to now favour to call me, have spent most of my time watching the going ons beyond those glass walls, unable to partake. Does it please you that I know my wrongdoings? But I cannot find them wrong, for who created morality? I can only find _that_ on the other side of the walls, where I would have societal evidence to find my actions wrong and maybe respond accurately."

"So you just can't change, due to your _nature_ ," Harry challenged. "We are both man, with or without walls and doors we are all a part of humankind. You can't opt out of humanity."

"But remember I am in my glass prison, Harry," he said chidingly. "Why would the going ons of the outside have any sway over me?" The young boy considered this. He was only eighteen-going-on-fourteen, and philosophy was never a class at Hogwarts.

He'd never had the taste for wordplay the man in front of him did.

"I don't understand," Harry said, changing tacts. "what you mean about destiny."

Tom looked pleased by this turn, and Harry immediately regretted it. 

"While your simplified view of destiny and choice is not completely inaccurate, it lacks the bigger picture." He spoke with his hands, twisting his wrist and raising his palms to follow his words.

"What is happening to a lone individual in Indonesia at this very moment? Neither you or I can say any one and true answer to that question, for three reasons. First- we do not know who this lone individual in Indonesia is. Second- we do not have a definition of happening, lone, or individual to subscribe anything paramount to an accurate search. Third- and this is most important of all- we don't need an answer at all."

"You just enjoy talking, don't you?" Harry frowned. He understood that the question was stupid and pointless, sure, but he didn't know what point the man was trying to make.

"I do, Harry, but oftentimes it's best with just myself. I'm not trying to drive you in circles, I wouldn't waste any time on that. What I mean to say is that, the question is irrelevant because the answer could be anything. I could make an answer as easily as I would wish, to any lone individual in Indonesia, but the only true happenstance is that two paths will cross that may have never done so. Yes, to some extent destiny is choice, but to a larger extent it is simply unknown because no one has bothered to calculate every single cause-and-effect in history. Essentially, the bigger picture Harry, is that which has already been written by every answered question that has ever happened, and ever will."

"But if things that have already happened," Harry started slowly, "and things that will happen both matter... well that makes no sense! If things haven't happened then how can they be considered destiny! They have to be chosen, like paths."

"Sure," Tom gave easily. "But the path, as you say, well you've already chose it."

Harry woke up with a sudden yank on his ankle, his neck twinging awkwardly as he was pulled to the floor from his bed.

"Ooog," he managed to get out. "Tom?"

"Never heard of him," came the brisk answer. "Or do you mean the Ravenclaw in our year? Didn't know you knew him," Snape was crouching over him with a curious look.

"Snape?" Harry slurred. The boy gave a sharp smile, too many teeth.

"Do you like the jinx? I'm still working on it, it's got a few kinks to work out, but it's getting there."

"Hngh," Harry shared, letting his head fall onto the floor. 

"You've slept half the day," Snape continued undeterred. "Next time watch your dosage, idiot." 

"Have you been here the whole time?" Harry asked.

"No, I was in Hogsmeade, with Lily. Less crowded in the shops on a Sunday." 

"That's nice," Harry yawned through his words. "I had a nightmare that was real, and I'm trying not to completely lose it," he spoke plainly.

Snape raised a brow.

"I've got just the thing for that." And the thing was cigarettes from a mostly empty carton, which Harry took hesitantly. They stood out on the balcony overlooking the lake so close below, the one that protrudes from their dormitory. There were other small balconies to the sides and above them, and Harry rather liked the concept.

"You can't fall," Snape explained. "But you can throw the butts over the side."

"The what?"

"The butt of the cigarette, when you're done." He looked irritated, and Harry felt fond of the familiar grouchiness. He wished he had a _real_ familiar face around, someone that _knew_ him, but he was for all intents and purposes alone.

He drew in the smoke, choking a little on the burn, cheeks red from embarrassment. His company didn't say anything about that, thankfully.

"You definitely don't have to tell me about the, er, nightmare." He paused for a moment. "Do you ever feel good with things you hate?" Snape made a face. "I hate smoking, you know. I don't know why I do it."

Harry sucked in a harsh breath, nodding along.

"I get that." He looked at his old Professor and said, "You know, there are times I think about everything I've been through. How it's made me into who I am and what I believe in... and then there are times I wish I were a brick."

He stubbed out the cigarette, only halfway through. It had served its purpose.

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let Tom know what you think of him because he's very vain- watch out for curses though, he can be tetchy!


End file.
